


My Dragons, Your Phoenix, His Death Eaters

by Daerwyn



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dragons, F/M, somewhat AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-06
Updated: 2016-10-19
Packaged: 2017-12-22 13:57:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/914004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daerwyn/pseuds/Daerwyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Heatherlyn Draconus was neither Order nor Death Eater. She was a Dragon, an organization originating in France that fought tirelessly against the Dark Lord's forces. She's been going six days without sleep, hopping from task to task, doing favors for the Order in hopes that they'd return it. She couldn't sleep. Sleep was weakness. Sleep was vulnerability. She had to keep going. They had to win.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 5 Days, No Sleep

Flames licked the thick lacquer of the wood, cutting off that path to escape the room. The other door, where her hands were pounding, was sealed from the outside. No one could enter, it seemed. There wasn't even a seam. She stumbled away from the door and glanced around her, looking for another escape. The one in front of her was where they were going to be entering any second. The one behind her was already occupied by the Order. She saw them gathered, rather surprised to see her, so she took a stance in the middle of the room. The least she could do was die fighting and die protecting the Order.

The silence consumed the room until the only unoccupied door to the room opened and Tom Riddle Jr. strode through. He seemed to stagger as he saw her, her pale hair falling in her eyes as she glanced behind him. Too many for her to fight off with good chances... She'd have to make it a remarkable fight. "Heather?" Voldemort whispered. His shock was very evident in his voice, but he seemed to recover as he realized his company. "My, you just don't want to die, do you?" he sneered.

"Didn't your mother ever tell you, Tom, that it's not nice to play cat and mouse?" Heather returned in response, her stance rigid and ready. He would have to attack first, of course, in order for her to return the spell-fire. It was how she worked. Back in the old days, there had been rules to warfare. Modern society forgot it in turn for easier "kill first, talk later" methods, but she didn't. She respected tradition. "Oh," Heather winced as the Dark Lord's lip curled in fury. "That's right... Merope never taught you that lesson, did she? Never could from the grave."

"I thought you were dead, little girl," Voldemort growled instead, not bothering to comment on the fire she was throwing at him with her words. "You were bleeding on that floor-"

"Your aim is impeccably horrible," Heather returned. She glanced out of the corner of her eye to the Order, wands out and rigid. It wasn't the entire Order, of course. Just a select few. She recognized some - Remus Lupin, Albus Dumbledore, Harry Potter... The others she couldn't see very well. "And I'm a better actress when it comes to faking death than you seem to assume."

He hissed, as if talking in that snake language of his, but gripped his wand tightly, pointing it at her. "I've never missed."

"There's always a first for everything, Tom," she said gently, as if talking to a toddler. "Don't lose your temper with me. I know things you'd cringe if I let out of the bag... For example, how Regulus Black truly died... _Why_ he died... it's all a very interesting story, really, you see, he-"

"Silence!" Voldemort shouted. Heather sucked in her words with a breath, doing as he ordered. She was so used to giving orders, not following them, that she was surprised at how well her body obeyed. "How do you know about these things?"

"I don't just lay about," she explained haughtily. "If you aren't practicing, _someone's_ got to. No, I've been delving into the archives... You really should clean up your tracks better. You're almost becoming predictable." She flipped her hair out of her eyes as she continued, feeling as though she had the upper hand. "An attack in Surrey tomorrow? Another in Highgate next week?" His jaw clenched in surprise and she grinned to herself. "Yes... we know."

"You were a mistake," he spat. "I should have killed you myself. Drawn every last drop of blood from your veins-"

"Sangophilia?" She winkled her nose. "I'd expect it from Dracula. Not you."

He stood with fury radiating off of him. Heather smiled sweetly as a curse came flying from his wand toward her. She swept out of the way, her wand aimed at him as she righted herself.

"Oh, Tommy, dear, you really are predictable. Another killing curse, and then a few stunners, and then you'll go for the kill. Dark magic." Heather grinned, her eyes taking his form in and then those of the Death Eaters behind him. "Not going to let your little slaves join in on the fight? Aw, they must be so disappointed to miss out. I assure you lot, my Dragons and I can take you and more." As if to punctuate her sentence, she reached a hand up to clasp her necklace, smirking as the Dark Lord faltered only slightly. "How long have I been training for you, Tom? Merlin, let's see... We did meet just a few years ago, didn't we? For the first time, that is..."

Gold illuminated Heather's flanks, nearly the same color as her hair, before the light disipated and in its place were women all around Heather's age, their wands out and their uniforms the exact same. Heather valued precision.

Heather giggled suddenly. "Oh! And let's not forget how I bested you, even then. A sixteen year old girl? My, you've lost your touch. I've been training since I was born, Tom. You can't best that. This war... These wars... They're my game. You're just the poor unfortunate pawn. And soon, Tom, the big bad queen is going to knock you out." She gave a sympathetic sigh. "Nothing personal, of course. Just a few murders that provoked a small, innocent girl to war."

"If only you were one of mine," the Dark Lord agreed. "We'd be unstoppable."

"You have enough experience to be unstoppable," she returned. She glanced to the left, seeing Ariel ready to back up her leader. "Tres ennuyeuse." Arielle laughed richly, her eyes locking on a Death Eater. "Belle, tu vas endroit. Yasmina, tu vas derriere."

"Oui," the girls Heather addressed murmured.

"Allons-y," Heather winked at Voldemort. Her wand flicked in a split second and the Dark Lord barely had time to cast up a shielding charm before she shot another at him. The Death Eaters soon joined the fight, each matched with one of the golden girls that had appeared out of nowhere.

As the Dark Lord shot a spell back at Heather, she barely had time to move out of the way, hearing it crack on the wall just behind the Order. "Aurore, make the Order leave," Heather snapped. She glanced quickly as she fired another spell and saw Yasmina free. "Yasmina! Get rid of the fire, and unblock the door."

"Oui!" Yasmina called. "Cindy, cover me."

There was silence as Heather shot a disarming spell when the Dark Lord bumped into another Death Eater, causing him to fumble. All fighting seized as the Dark Lord's wand fell from his grasp and clattered on the floor, rolling towards Heather at a very slow pace. She made eye contact with the Dark Lord before she started forward. She had to get his wand before he got it. She had a few seconds advantage before he started as well. Her fingers barely grasped it as he knocked into her.

She knew he used wandless magic in the blow and she flew backwards, hitting the ground with a groan. But she still had his wand.

"Tom, Tom, Tom," she sighed, slowly getting to her feet. Oh, yes, definite damage. She could feel the pain. "Are you ever going to learn? You know what to do. The last Saturday of the month, Stonehenge. Your wand will be where I always put it." His lips curled in fury. Oh, how he hated to be bested in front of his followers. "Now, until next time? You can never keep a girl hanging after a date." She giggled as he apparated away, his hoarde of Death Eaters soon to follow.

There was a tense silence before Heather slid her wand into her holster and glanced at the door. Yasmina was nearly done with unwarding it, the fire already out. She assessed her girls, making sure none of them were dead, before she gave a satisfactory nod.

"Meet at the manor. We'll discuss improvements and new tactics to keep the element of surprise. I'll be back shortly. I expect you all fed and ready for a long night, ladies." Heather's lips twitched as she noticed a few groans hidden by clearing of throats. "You'll be getting no sleep."

She turned to face the Order that had simply refused to listen to Aurore. She couldn't fault the girl. Fighters were more difficult to distract from a battle than moths from a flame. A smile lit up her features as she spotted Albus Dumbledore amongst the throng. "Albus!" she cried in greeting. She reached to embrace the old man and he let her, hugging her back. Pulling away with the scent of lemon in her senses, she shook her head. "I must say, I'm quite surprised to see you in the middle of battle. Especially with your age. What are you? A hundred and seventy now?"

"Not quite, Miss Draconis," Albus twinkled, watching as her Dragons apparated away in a beam of gold light. "Fascinating. You're getting more and more impressive as the years wear on."

"That's a true compliment coming from you, Albus. I pride myself with the work I've put into those girls. They just needed the push to get their greatness." Heather winced slightly as she glanced back to follow his gaze. Perhaps a cracked rib, then, from Tom's assault. "I wasn't quite sure you'd gotten my message."

"Just in the knick of time," the elderly headmaster assured her. "I've gathered who I could. I'm sure you recognize most of them."

Her eyes darted through the familiar faces. She recognized all of them, but she had yet to meet one. Her eyes lingered towards the werewolf and the bubblegum colored hair of one woman. The werewolf looked the most surprised to see her. And the girl... confused. Two people, that is.

"You should introduce me to your friend here, Albus," Heather said, her gaze dropping abruptly to the raven haired boy to Albus's right.

"Heatherlyn Draconis, this is Harry Potter. Harry, my boy, this is Heather. She's the leader of the Golden Dragons, an organization much like the Order."

"We're based out of France," Heather smiled politely at Harry, offering a hand. "It's nice to meet you, Mr. Potter. I truly find catalysts fascinating, don't you? And you... look at you." She stepped back as she surveyed him. "You're the perfect catalyst. Bold... a true Gryffindor, like my parents. I've heard stories. I've been keeping tabs on you, Mr. Potter. I always have been meaning to thank the man that saved my life all those years ago." At his look of confusion, she knew she had him on the hook and she was reeling him in with his curiosity and interest. She looked away from his green eyes, finding them almost painful to look at, and instead gave a once over of his shotty clothing.

"But … we've never met before."

"And you weren't born yet when you saved me," she returned lightly. "It's because of you the prophecy was made, Mr. Potter." She cleared her throat and glanced at Tom's wand. "Eugh, right. Tom. How could I have forgotten? I must be leaving, Albus. I have to hide a wand at the highest peak of the stones of Stonehenge. Maybe I could just bury it. Tom might be angered by the change."

"I'll never understand your rules of warfare," Albus admitted.

Heather smirked, "How so? They ended when Tom was just a boy. You practically grew up on them, Albus. The rules of engagement, the proper way to fight one another. Total war is so... unpredictable and so... _dull_." She glanced at Harry. "Enchantee, Monsieur Potter. I'm sure we'll be in contact... I'd very much like to have tea with you. Albus knows how to owl me."

"Heather, my dear," Albus began as she turned away. "Why do you give the wand back?"

Heather grinned, "Why would I keep it? It's no fun fighting him when he has no proper wand. It's actually quite boring. I think this is the fourth time I've won it from him." Heather glanced at Potter as he eyed the wand, seemingly ready to lunge for it. "Why do you ask, Albus?"

"I only think it'd give us the advantage if we were to keep it."

"Ah," Heather smirked, slipping the wand into the holster, taking her own out in its place. "That's the difference between my Dragons and your Order, Albus. I stick with honor. You and your..." She almost sneered as she glanced them over, showing a much different side of her bubbly self, " _friends_ are more concerned with winning. I find honor in death. Death shouldn't be any other way. Dying to do something... stupid, as many of your Order members have, well... like I said, that's the difference between you and me. My Dragons aren't stupid."

"So, you're on Voldemort's side, then?" Harry snapped. "You help him out. You give him his wand when he wants it, and you disagree with our side so you don't help us-"

Her good mood with the wand victory was gone. And he saw it a second too late. His words died in his throat as her eyes turned deadly and she sauntered forward, her fingers tracing his jaw line. She forced herself to meet his eyes, also making sure she realized the eyes belonged so someone of raven hair. "You think you're so brave, Potter. You think you have so much weight behind your words. So much of a punch because of everything _you've_ experienced. I'd be delighted to hear just how much better you are than me. In fact, I insist upon it. Tell me, Mr. Potter." She gave a smirk as she tapped his chin with her finger, causing him to shrug away from her. "How great are you? Did you really kill Cedric Diggory for the win?"

"Of course not!" he gasped, completely offended.

"Of course not," she continued, as if she hadn't heard him. She turned away, walking down the line of Order members. "You didn't want it badly enough. In fact, word reached me that you tried to _back out_. Where's the bravery in that? Oh! You thought backing out was just the beginning, but no. See, Mr. Potter, I've studied your life. Call me a fan, call me a stalker, whatever." She flipped her blonde hair over her shoulder, allowing him to see the scars that marred her body. "First year. You rescue your little friend, Miss Granger, who, by the way, is far braver and more capable than you, from a troll. Alright, I'll give you the rushing into battle thing a bit of points. Afterall, you didn't know the first thing of battling a troll. But when you get there, your friend is seconds from being pummeled by a troll and your response is to jump on the trolls back? I don't know if that's bravery or idiocy. But continuing, while I strongly believe it was your brain in a world of idiocracy-"

"Me and Ron saved her life!" Harry argued.

"Ron and I," Heather corrected condescendingly. She turned to face him, walking back very slowly. Afterall, the Order followed his boy blindly, put every hope on him. It's only time they saw exactly what he was. An idiot that acted on the expectations around him. "Second year. Oh, poor, defenseless Ginny Weasley." Heather shot him a grin. "I would have let her die, you know." She really wouldn't have, but his face contorted into anger. "She almost killed half the students in that school, and her life would have been the price to pay for it to end. And then there's the fact that you … walk up to Tom Riddle Jr., and you _ask_ him to let her live."

Heather let out a laugh, probably the richest she could have mustered. "Oh, Harry, you're so innocent and naïve. And facing that basilisk. I will admit that was brave. Basilisks are known to kill and leave no evidence behind when they devour your body... And yet you decide 'Oh, it's coming straight at me. I'm going to shove this small sword into its very large mouth and potentially have it bite my arm off. Only it did worse than that. It _bit_ you. And you would have died, yet you were healed by the tears of a Phoenix. Who sent that Phoenix to save you, because you're the only chance the Order has at winning? The man right beside you. Shall I continue?"

"I think we get the point, Heatherlyn," Albus said sternly.

"The _point_ is that, Mr. Potter, you aren't brave. You're stupid and naïve and think all the good things in the world will protect you. That you can rely on those you love and that you can count on your friends to save you. But you can't. They'll die, they'll betray you, and all you'll do the entire time is count on them every second of the way." She dared him to disagree as her eyes leveled with his. "You aren't going to win this war, Potter. You know why? Because Tom is smarter, stronger, and more adept at magic than you can ever dream to be."

"Better than you?"

She smirked. "Almost. I've dedicated the eighteen years I've been alive to ending him. Every seconds of my life has been spent learning something. I'm running on around five days of no sleep. Truth is, I _don't_ sleep. All I do is train, learn, grow, adapt... My girls? That's all they do as well. Some of them hate it, but they push through it because the bigger goal is more important than that of whining and complaining. They're conditioned not to." Heather leaned away. "Our pain threshold is highest on record. I once had my insides ripped open and had to put my organs back inside me myself, and I felt nothing." His eyes widened, now, in fear. "You won't win this war, Mr. Potter. You have no chance. That's why I despise the Order's techniques. In fact, despise is light. I _loathe_ them because it makes you weak. And not just you. I've seen the most capable fighters be murdered because of their lack in technique. Dorcas Meadowes is the finest example. She was the best fighter the Order has ever seen and the Dark Lord blew her up into a million pieces. You'll never be as good as her, especially when you're brooding like you are now.

"So, tell me, Potter, are you better than me? Are you braver? Stronger? Smarter? Tougher? More skilled?" He didn't answer. "I didn't think so. That's why I keep the rules of engagement and the entire … traditional warfare. I don't believe in hit and run attempts to gain the upper hand. They're disorganized and too many die because they don't know where they're supposed to go. I know how to work a battlefield to my advantage. You can't even work in the classroom."

"That's not true-"

"You want to be an Auror. Oh, I've heard. But you can't be an Auror with that temper and with your inability to contain any common sense or self preservation. Though, I guess that's not your fault. Your father had the same problem. And you've been raised your hole life to be bold and, despite your aunt and uncle always calling you a freak, you've always acted stupidly. It's why a Gryffindor is always the first to be dead in battle. Most of the people in this war will die because of their Gryffindor upbringing."

"That's because they're _brave_ ," Harry emphasized.

"It's because they act foolishly," she returned.

"You're only, what? A year older than me. That doesn't make you smarter."

"I've bested Tom every time I've met him or his Death Eaters but once, and that's because I acted like a fool. I used the Gryffindor in me that my parents had to get revenge for something and I nearly died because of it." She looked him over. "You'll do the same."

"What makes you so sure?"

Heather smirked. "Because you already have." He looked confused so she chose to clarify. "Sirius Black was someone you nearly died over in order to get revenge. You're lucky Dumbledore was there for you, because you would be six feet under by now. Because you aren't brave. You're reckless."

"You know nothing about Sirius!" Harry shouted. "You have no right-"

"Everyone knew everything about Sirius," Heather shot back. "He liked it that way. He consulted me about the Ministry of Magic raid you and your pathetic friends pulled off in your fifth year. I told him not to go, it was a trap and a pathetic attempt to lure you out. Little did I know that you were an idiot and decided to act on a connection the _Dark Lord_ gave you. You believed the Dark Lord's words and it landed you in prison. Tom and I have a respect for each other, you see. I know whatever spews from his mouth is a lie, and he knows I … well, mostly, tell the truth." She looked him over. "You ever lie, boy?"

"I'm not a boy-"

"You're a boy if I say you're a boy," Heather returned, smirking as he turned red in anger. It was almost too easy. "You lied just then, you know. You _are_ a boy. And your tell... Tell me another lie, Harry. Show them all."

"Why should I?" Harry returned. "You're some crazy girl that-"

She grinned wickedly. "Do you know what your tell is Harry?" She stepped back, spreading her arms wide. "You look behind me. There's nothing behind me for you to look at. And you know how I know? Training. Extensive training that makes my hands bleed and my limps quake, being unable to move for hours afterwards. And then once I can move, I start over like I hadn't just trained. Diligence. The entire time I've been talking to you, I've been scanning this room, looking at possible exit points... I've been assessing you so I know which wand arm you all have, how you hold it. It makes it that much easier to disarm you. So try it. Try to disarm me, Mr. Potter. _Je vous mets au défi."_

Harry didn't move. She didn't expect him to. "If you wish to talk to me, then, owl me. Perhaps I'll set you up on a more rigerous training schedule that will guarantee you last ten minutes, instead of two."

"I've faced him before!"

"When you were a child," she returned. "A toddler. And again when you lot were in the Tournament. Nasty bit of magic, that tournament. I'm surprised you don't remember me from it. I trained Fleur Delacour. She was a member of my team. And even when you faced him then, you had a huge amount of help from your dead parents. And ran away like a snivelling baby with the body of your boyfriend-"

"He wasn't-"

"And fifth year, you were possessed. You would have died had Dumbledore not been there. Yes, you know how to face him quite well. The Boy-Who-Is-Destined-To-Die, huh, Albus? Told him that yet?"

"Heather, you're out of line," Albus said firmly.

"You weren't my headmaster for a reason, old friend. I don't doubt your methods, I know they won't work. He finds out and he'll turn coward for sure." Heather twirled Tom's wand in her hand. "I'll leave you with that to think on." She gave a polite bow to the Order. "Order, Potter, Albus." She then apparated in a burst of gold dust, letting it shower down where she once stood. As soon as the dust touched the ground, it disappeared. Just like she had.


	2. 6 Days, No Sleep

It was a cafe she had grown up in. When she was just a child, her Uncle would frequently take her to sit quietly in the corner while he worked. A Muggle coffee shop, a quiet coffee shop. A place she visited if she ever needed a moment. Heather couldn't spot the person she was meeting, but that didn't stop her from approaching the counter and ordering a small latte and giving the hot barista a small smile. He couldn't seem to draw his eyes away from her rather revealing shorts.

Honestly, why did Muggles dress so provocatively? Didn't they value modesty at all? She sat at the bar, pouring three packets of sugar into the drink and stirring it absently as she waited for her guests.

"Heather?"

She sipped from her cup as though she hadn't heard before turning in her seat, dodging a hand that was about to touch her shoulder. Her eyes met amber, a lively amber that was clouded with anguish and self-loathing. Remus. "Lupin," Heather said firmly.

"You look great."

"I haven't slept in six days," Heather returned flatly. "And quite frankly, you look worse and worse everytime I see you."

"Still blunt."

"I find it unnecessary to exchange pleasantries when they're all false," Heather shrugged. She sipped from her latte once more, tasting the sugar. Way too much. Oh well. It gave her energy. She glanced in the direction of the Order that was entering behind him. Mad-Eye walked up to each resident and modified their memories, shooing them all away. Heather rolled her eyes. How sloppy. The cute guy that worked behind the counter was sent to the back and was to stay there until the Order left.

"You're..." He seemed to struggle with what to say.

"Fairing far better than I did in your care," Heather smirked. "I didn't think you'd be loose this close to a moon. You might start peeing in the corner."

He didn't find it amusing. "You came alone?"

"My Dragons are training. I received an owl this morning from Potter and hid Tom's wand on my journey."

"Where..." Remus hesitated, tousling his honey hair. "Where are you staying?"

"France. A friend of mine bequeathed a Manor to me. His legacy lives within its walls." Her sudden cold tone didn't go unnoticed by the werewolf. She gave him a small smile before stepping past him, her eyes on Potter. "The Idiot Who Lived. Oh, it's a pleasure to meet you on such short notice. You had best do well to inform me with even less time to prepare where you wish to meet. It's much safer that way. Less time for others to find out."

Potter had seemed ready to apologize, but stopped. "Um, er, right."

"Please, speak intelligently. I know you possess more brain cells that you appear to." She gestured to an empty table beside her. "Please, take a seat. We have much to discuss, do we not?"

"You said I saved your life," Potter spoke immediately. "What did you mean?"

"You don't beat around the bush, I like that," Heather admitted. "I was two when your parents died. I was six months old when the prophecy was made." She sipped from her latte briefly before continuing. "My mother and father refused to join his ranks. They were Order members, stupid and Gryffindor. They were killed immediately, in their home. Me crying in the bedroom upstairs. The Dark Lord was heading for me when he received the call from Severus Snape."

"A call?" Harry questioned. "He can be called?"

"The Mark works both ways," Heather said off-handedly as though it wasn't news to him. If he had any brains at all, he'd have already known it. "He went away, leaving me in a death-filled home. I was alive because he was called away to hear the Prophecy that would lead to his downfall. The next morning, after my father failed to report to Auror duty, I was found by the Ministry, taken to my Uncle, who cared for me as anyone would care for the girl that looked exactly like his sister." Heather glanced briefly towards the werewolf, but not so noticeable it made Potter look as well. "It was quite rough for him, but I believe I turned out normal enough."

"And this prophecy saved your life... because it distracted him?"

"Yes, so I thank you for being born," Heather said firmly. "You have my Dragons support in this war. I hope that you will not throw our alliance away easily. My Dragon are very skilled and with their skill comes power. Truth of the matter is, whatever side we're on will win. I will never side with Tom, but I can withdraw my support to your side just as easily as I gave it. And if I do, your side will fall and I will beat Tom, and My Dragons and I will emerge victorious. And I don't think anyone wants that, especially you."

"Why wouldn't I?"

Heather grinned. "Because, Mr. Potter, your death will not be swift. Tom will torture you until you break and beg him to kill you. And then he won't. He will keep torturing you until you eventually die on your own. Heart failure, bleeding out... oh, the list goes on. So can I trust you with my allegiance? Or shall I revoke it now and save us the trouble?"

"You have followers like him."

"Hardly, but yes," Heather smirked. She took note in how he diverted the question. "My Dragons are family. I don't instill fear in them in order for them to join. They are more loyal than dogs and more skilled than most trained assassins. We grew up together, we train together, we live together. We are a family in every sense, and we die together. We began with sixty girls, all from Beauxbatons, all in my year or above. Never younger. The younger do not remember the first war, and therefore they are weak. Mine are all women, and his are men. His are weak men, already broken but never fixed. My girls are broken and built stronger."

"And how do you break them?"

Heather smirked. "Secrets."

"Did your Uncle go to France with you?"

"No, he remained here. And he found a girl and he's going strong, I believe. I mean, a near forty year old man would be have to have some stamina to keep a girlfriend his own neice's age."

"Professor Lupin?" Potter sputtered. "He's your Uncle?"

Heather glanced at the werewolf to see him rigid, angry by her statement. "Look at that, Lupin, he's given your sex life a fair bit of thought, too, it seems." She sipped from her coffee, amused. "Yes, he's my Uncle. And you're Harry Potter. Can we move on from stating the obvious or is that all we're going to do? Because, I assure you, I have better things to do than drink coffee."

"How did you get to be as good as you claim?" Potter asked.

Heather smirked, her eyes darting to Remus sitting at the bar, rigid as he stared out the windows, protection detail. "I was told when I was four what happened to my parents and vowed to never be defenseless again. I mastered all of the textbooks for Hogwarts' curriculum by the age of eight, and forced Remus to teach me self-defense methods - none of which would last me in a real fight, but it was enough to get me started. By the time I purchased my first wand, at age eleven, I was skilled enough to have already graduated. So I went to Beauxbatons and created the Dragons almost immediately, working mainly on skill. The goal was not revealed until they were already too invested."

"And the goal?"

"Kill Tom and every one he's ever cared for, trained, or touched in a friendly manner. I don't like his allies, he doesn't like mine." Heather smirked as Potter seemed to disagree with her. "What else, Potter? I'm getting bored."

"Did you really have your insides ripped out of you?"

Heather gave a small laugh, setting her latte down. She leaned forward, staring Potter in the eyes as she said in the most neutral tone she ever had, "Yes." He flinched in surprise. "He captured me, and two of his Death Eaters tortured me for hours on end, and to end it all, they stuck a dagger through my stomach and tore me end from end... and then they left me there to die. And I shoved everything back inside of me and apparated away as quickly as I could. And I have quite the scar to prove it."

"Then prove it, because you seem to have an awful lot of talk-"

"Didn't you ever learn not to ask a woman to take her clothes off on the first date?" Heather smiled. She stood from the chair, lifting up the front of the shirt to expose an angry pink scar - almost fresh. "Is that proof enough?"

"Bloody hell," he murmured, his eyes wide. "It looks brand new!"

"A year old, give or take a few months," Heather shrugged. She seated herself, sipping from her latte and wondering if she could convince the barista to make her another. "Do you want to know why I wanted you to contact me, Potter?"

"But-"

"Because I wanted to know you had the guts to send a message to a woman that has humiliated you in front of everyone you've ever looked up to," Heather said firmly, stopping him from speaking. He said too many stupid things. "I wanted to know if you had some bravery inside of you that I could work with. And I'm willing to work with it. I've offered it to Albus several times but he won't listen, so I'm going to offer it to you, because you have more sway than I do - I can train you, teach you everything you need to know about Tom. I can give you techniques, survival skills, and better yet, a reason to survive this war - or to at least pretend and think that you are."

"What does that mean?"

"It means, Potter, that you won't survive this war. You're already destined to die. But just because you die doesn't mean that the Order should be doomed." She spun her cup on the table slowly. "So, do you want me to train you and your pathetic friends, or... do you want me to sit back and watch as you and Tom tear each other apart and leave me to pick up the pieces and ensure the victory for myself."

"What do you mean, I die?"

She hesitated. "The prophecy was clear, neither can live while the other survives. In other words... one of you will die. And you are destined to die... all because of this-" She leaned across the table, poking the scar on his forehead. He jerked back, touching it as he glared at her. "It's a mark of death, Mr. Potter. And a mark of death will always hold down its bearer."

"So, we can take it off, right?"

She took a deep breath, shaking her head as she leaned back into her chair. "I'm afraid that's not how it works. So, what's the answer? Because it's going to take a few hours to transport all of the training equipment to Order Headquarter's basement."

Harry glanced at the Order members around him, neither obviously in the conversation, but all were close enough to hear it. And all were close enough to know that Potter was a bit lost. It was a huge decision, but one he'd be an absolute fool to turn down.

"Take the offer, Harry-"

"Shut up," Heather snapped, glaring at her Uncle. "It is a decision he needs to make himself. Otherwise, this is pointless."

Remus swallowed, surprised by her hostility towards him, and Heather glared at Harry, daring him to agree right away.

"You can make sure we win?" Harry asked.

Heather laughed. "I'm not a miracle worker, Mr. Potter. I only work on trying to create miracles." Her lips twitched as Harry seemed lost again. "But you will be doomed without me." Just as they would be with her.

"Then it's a good idea-"

"Wonderful," Heather said simply, standing. "I will move my Headquarters into the Order headquarters, all orders that are given will be given by me - I expect total compliance or I pull my forces out and you'll never see me again. You follow my schedules, my operations, my rules. If anyone - and I mean anyone - disobeys, they are labeled as a traitor and pulled out of all operations and put in a cell of my own making." Heather glanced at the Order members that were all paying attention to her now. "If the Order wants to win, they recognize me as their leader. There are sixteen Dragons. Our quarters will not need to be arranged, I will arrange it myself. Our intelligence forces will be in charge of what our missions will consist of... and my training schedules will make you all want to cry, to die, to maybe even break you... but that's my goal. That's how I work. I make your petty fears a reality and then the fears become nothing but a distant memory... You'll wish you never met me by the time we're done."

"We aren't giving you control of the Order, lass," Mad-Eye snapped.

"Oh, I'm sorry, who are you again?" Heather questioned sarcastically. "Because last I heard, you weren't a leader of anything, and I was."

"I was head of the Auror department, girl, before you were ever even thought about being born!"

"Was," Heather countered. "Not anymore. In fact, retired, from what you've told me. You all reliquish your power to me or my offer doesn't even come close to sitting on the table." She played with the hem of her sweater non-chalantly, weighing her options. They needed her help too much to turn her down. "It's Potter's decision. Afterall, you follow his word blindly."

"Absolutely not!" Moody cried. "Are you mad, girl?"

Heather smirked. "Probably. Fine, Mad-Eye, we'll do this your way. I take complete control of your missions and operations, training everyone that enters Headquarters regularly. Is that a more acceptable request? And you control the other mediocre jobs the Order does - like making friends and babysitting the children."

"If you can guarantee a training regimen for all of the students as well as some adults, then I believe relinquishing some of our power over training would be... acceptable," Remus spoke up. "We need all of the help we can get."

"Wonderful," Heather grinned, glancing at Mad-Eye, who looked ready to protest. "I'll ready my Dragons. You can all ready your Headquarters." She began towards the door, dropping her empty latte container into the trashcan. "Oh, and another thing..." She turned, a smirk on her face. "We do things my way. Soon, you'll understand why it's for the better."

She shoved open the shop door, her feet carrying her towards her designated apparation point. No point in worrying the locals and possibly drawing Death Eaters to their location. That would be stupid, and pointless. She didn't do either.


	3. 7 Days, No Sleep

Her hands ran across the cool marble, the manor above her - around her - as sparkling as the day it was built. Or she assumed. She took great care in having it cleaned, it if wasn't, she wasn't going to be happy.

Heather had absolutely no intentions of abandoning her manor in France. In fact, she wouldn't have abandoned it even if they tried to make her abandon it. That's why it was going to England... Well, relatively speaking, it was staying put, but they would think it was in England. Simple portal magic, really. Which was why she had to make sure everything was in top shape before she cast the portal. Anything that was less than perfect would be an embarrassment.

"Madamoiselle?" Heather turned towards the inquiror and gave Arielle a look that clearly told her to keep talking. "The training room is set, and there is nothing out of place, as you've requested."

Everything was set. "Merci," Heather murmured. Casting this portal charm would take a lot of her energy. She would have to rest slightly ahead of schedule, then. Tonight, perhaps. "Tell the girls to gather in the foyer. Let's give the Order a welcome, yes?"

"Oui, madamoiselle." She was off, to relay the message, and Heather swept her hand across the marble once more of the spare closet just to the left of the foyer. It was large, large enough to contain a few people, and it was easy to ward - meaning it could be contained. She didn't want them coming at all hours of the day, afterall.

"Aperi portam." The marble she had swept her hand across turned a translucent blue color and then slowly dripped down until the entirety of the wall under the arch was blue as well - providing a solid portal. "Basement, 12 Grimmauld Place," Heather spoke clearly. And the blue faded into the dark basement of the home she would visit - and had visited often - in the last few months. The Order Headquarters.

She took a deep breath and stepped through, feeling something akin to water touch her skin, but once she was through the portal, she was dry. And she was standing in a dark, cold room. Her feet turned her, to face the portal, which was the only source of light, and she spotted the white, brightly lit room of Draconem Manerium - Dragon Manor. "Draconem Manerium," she spoke just as clearly as before and the rippling image solidified, providing a perfect gateway to her home, and from her home here.

She settled a smirk on her face and began walking up the stairs, kicking open the door - which she hoped would alert the Order of her arrival. She leaned on the door a second later and began counting.

"One... Two... Three... Four... Five... Six... Seven... Eight..." She heard thundering footsteps sprinting in her direction. How sloppy. "Seventeen... Eighteen..." And then suddenly a spell was being shot at her. She cast a shielding charm until they realized who she was. "Twenty four seconds? Really? I could have killed you all by then," Heather remarked. She dropped the shield, smirking at a mystified Order standing in the narrow hall. "How many Order members can fit into a small hallway? I guess we'll find out." She turned abruptly, heading down the stairs of the basement. "Are you going to follow me, or not?"

"How did you get in here?" Remus demanded. "No one heard you apparate-"

"Because I didn't apparate," Heather interrupted. "Lumos Maxima." The blue light left the tip of her wand and illuminated the room, revealing the portal door to those that had followed. "This is how we will train. I will take those interested to my Manor, in which training will begin immediately - and when I mean those interested, I mean all of those phyiscally able to fight. You have no choice." She gave a sweet smile as she stood next to the portal, inspecting her nails. "Well? I do not have all day. In fact, I will only extend the offer for thirty seconds before I cancel the portal and we don't see each other again-"

"Portals?" some bushy haired girl whispered. "But... those are so difficult to make-"

"Yes, well, enough marveling. I'm bored already." She glanced at Potter, who she assumed was the girl's friend. "Does she always state the obvious, because if so, I'm afraid I don't have the time to teach you all how to be intelligent, either." The girl flushed, either in anger or embarrassment, Heather didn't know, nor care. "If you'll please walk through the portal, life would be entirely easier. Cancelling portals is such a drain of my magic, I'm not even sure if you lot are worth it-"

"Who's on the other side?" Mad-Eye snapped.

"My Dragons," Heather remarked. "Waiting for you. It's rude to keep people waiting. Manners as well, bloody hell, am I in a zoo?" She cast them all a glare that told them they were being ridiculous, and stepped through the portal, so that she was on the otherside, and glanced back at the Order, who's jaws had dropped. Oh, bloody hell. They were all idiots. She shook her head in disappointment before opening the door to the closet, revealing the brightly, brightly lit foyer of the Manor. She turned back, raising an eyebrow, daring them to object now.

Slowly they began to filter through, and Heather directed them to the foyer, waiting until everyone was through, until she shut the closet door and cast a warding charm. "You'll find that this portal is only accessible to my manor when the wards are off of my door. I do not want you snooping around. Only I will be able to access the wards - being blood wards, so there's no chance you'll ever be able to break them... don't even try, or you may be one fighter short in battle." Heather turned, stalking to the middle of the foyer, the Order trailing behind her. "You'll do well to keep up, as the Manor is extensive and we have much to see." She turned towards the row of twenty Dragons, all dressed in identical peace colored dresses that went mid-thigh, all with their hair pinned back into a tight bun, all with their postures stiff, straight. "And these... these are my girls. Each is extremely disciplined, extensively trained, and skilled in Muggle, Wizarding, and Werewolf combat. We value precision, teamwork, and trust. Each of these girls has been hand selected by myself, and each girl has given up a life with family and friends to be here. We are each other's family, and we are each other's friends. Lovers are permitted, if they are extremely screened, interrogated, and with a memory modification charm that is to take place immediately after being cast away."

"But... that's immoral," Hermione spoke up.

Heather snorted. "We give up much to be here. And having loved ones that will weaken us if they are ever caught... not an option." She turned towards each of her girls, surveying them critically. "Each necklace they wear is a tracking device as well as a communication device. Not only do the girls have the ability to communicate with each other in battle, but also it provides me a point of reference if ever they are captured. They are nearly impossible to remove. If they prove to betray myself and my Dragons, the necklace will kill them on the spot." She gave the Order a smile that promised pain. "They are not only skilled in combat, but etiquette, language, and deception - each know how to interrogate, each know how to kill, and each know how to be very beautiful once they do it." Heather turned abruptly, her feet taking her through the path created by the twenty girls, and she moved towards the staircase that led downstairs.

"Where are we going?"

"The training floor." It was a ... well, a big floor. And being underground, provided more room that the upper floors. "It is an entirely open space," Heather explained. "The pool is tucked away in the corner, the shooting range just opposite. We also have archery, weight training, and an extensive dueling floor, with spell absorbant walls should not all spells be blocked effectively. It's safest. There is a track around the entire perimeter, providing a running station for stamina and endurance. Each of my girls run ten miles a day, if the day is good. And fifteen if it is bad. They are also welcome to run more if they feel they need it - I let them design their own rigorous schedule once they graduate from their novice training." Heather turned to face the Order. "Which you will be unable to do. I will be dictating what you are working on, and where. They will be done in rotations, my Dragons helping with station to ensure maximum strength and endurance."

"How is this much training healthy?" Ronald Weasley questioned. Oh... such naive children.

"It's not," Heather said simply. "We are required to take three nutrient replenishing potions a day in order to ensure our health stays in optimal condition, as well as eat a well balanced diet. There are no vegetarians here, but the elves do not make a single food item that has anything that will damage our bodies internally. This includes chips, crisps, cookies, and a multitude of other sweets - but let's not forget the inability to eat anything that even has unnatural amounts of sugar in it." She smirked. "You all will also be on this diet. There will be no junk food, no snacks, no binging. You can't even try, here, because they do not exist. Breaking this rule, or any of my rules, will result in severe diciplinary action."

"And that would entail?"

Heather laughed, it echoing in the space as she climbed back up the stairs, the Order following her. "Pain tolerance training."

"And that's-?"

"Making you feel pain until you think it's just a dull ache. And keeping it up until breaking a bone seems like a simple sting from a bee." She shut the door behind them, moving towards the more residential part of the home. The sitting room, the kitchens, the dining hall. And the back veranda. It overlooked the Mediterranean Sea, the summer breeze tangling in her hair due to the open windows.

"Where are we?"

"I do not give a location, because there is no location. My Manor is unplottable, and probably the safest location in all of mainland Europe. No one has penetrated these walls since Vlad the Impaler in 1463," Heather remarked. "It is an ancient, and noble home, to one of the most ancient Houses in the Pureblood world." Her feet brought her to the veranda's rail, overlooking the sea. They were technically half over the water themselves, but... details. She gripped the rail as she gave a small sigh. She loved it here. It was so beautiful.

"What house?" Remus asked curiously.

"The House of Malfoy," Heather stated simply. "Ignatius Malfoy is a dear friend of mine, just as his children were." Her lips twitched at their memory, staring into the sea that they would often visit in recreational time. "This home was gifted to me in their passing." Her eyes swept to the left, to which she gestured. "Beauxbatons Academy is located fifty miles east of here, much closer to Monaco than we are to Spain."

"Malfoy?" one of the red-heads spoke up. "As in the Malfoy family that currently gussy up to You-Know-Who?"

Heather frowned, confused. "No, I'm talking about the Ignatius Malfoy line, of whom was exiled to France in the first war by his father, Abraxus Malfoy. Ignatius is nothing like his brother, Lucius. In fact, he lives here... but it is so rare to see him these days."

"I thought you said he died-"

"His children," Heather said carefully. "Corsica was one of my Dragons, one of my best, and the one I was closest to amongst all of my Dragons. We were friends before we were colleagues." Her jaw set. "And then there was Orion. Once he heard of my cause, he and his father approached me with the idea of using this place as our training grounds. We were quite close as well... He was as much a Dragon as a man could get." She nodded suddenly, turning. She couldn't think of it. She just couldn't, right now. "If you'll follow me, we will begin with breakfast."

"How close were you?" Remus questioned, almost as though scared to ask.

Heather swallowed, not turning to look at him as she answered firmly. "Close enough." She snapped her fingers at the elves standing, waiting for her. "We will need breakfast for each of the Order members. A usual breakfast that you cook for myself and the girls. Has Papa woken, yet?"

"He's on his way down, Miss. He has heard we have visitors," the Head elf, Demi, stated. "We will work on breakfast right away, Miss."

"Thank you," Heather replied, before turning and gesturing for them to sit at the long dining table. She quickly surveyed the group, noting that she knew most, except for a few of the red-heads. She wasn't familiar with members of the Weasley family other than those frequently in the news. "I have yet to meet some of you."

"Hermione Granger," the bushy-haired girl stated. Heather knew who she was. The Know-It-All of the troupe.

"Fred and George Weasley," a pair of twins remarked with grins that promised much pranking. Unacceptable in her Manor, but she'd see what they attempted first.

"Bill Weasley," another stated, a nod of his head. Manners, at least. And she hoped so, when she spotted the blonde beauty sitting beside him.

"Fleur Delacour," Heather grinned. "My, you've grown."

"Pregnant, ma chere," Fleur remarked, smiling. "Eets so good to see you!"

"We've missed you here, Fleur," Heather promised. "You also, were one of my best."

"Fleur was a Dragon?" Ron questioned. "Bloody hell-"

"Language," Heather bit at him crossly. "Yes, she was in my first group of trainees. She was forced to retire following the Tournament due to personal reasons." She glanced at Bill. "Which I now see." A throat cleared behind Heather, and the girl straightened immediately, as though she herself was about to be subject to scrutiny. She turned elloquently and gave a charming smile to the long haired blonde man across from her. "Papa," she greeted. "I heard you were up, but I was unsure if you would be on your way down. How are you feeling?"

He waved the worry away, "Always the same, my dear. Now, who is it that have joined us?"

"This is the Order, Papa," Heather introduced warmly. "There are some people I'm sure you'll remember from your own Hogwarts days - Remus Lupin, Nymphadora Tonks, Alastor Moody, Arthur Weasley, and Molly Weasley." Her eyes darted to the Order. "There are various new inductees, however. Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Ronald Weasley, Fred and George Weasley, Bill Weasley, Ginny Weasley, and-"

"Fleur Delacour," Ignatius finished. "Welcome to my home. I hope you'll find it to your tastes."

"If I may ask," Arthur spoke up, "how did you get involved in... the Golden Dragons?"

Ignatius gave a chuckle and Heather swallowed, her face going neutral. He rarely laughed. "Oh, Heather was engaged to my son. I was more than happy to lend my home. Still more than happy, in fact. All of the girls have become my daughters, in one way or another."

"Engaged?" Remus questioned.

Heather cleared her throat, turning towards the kitchen abruptly. "Be sure to include Ignatius's breakfast, if you can. I must check on my Dragons." She left the room abruptly, knowing how it must have looked but... but just the thought of Orion, of thinking about him, made her feel unbearably angry with herself. It was her fault he was dead, and everyone knew that. And again, it was her fault Corsica was killed shortly afterwards. It was the cause of her stupid rebellious streak nearly a year ago. She paused just out of view, and squeezed her eyes shut, taking a deep breath to halt the emotion from surfacing. Now wasn't the time.

Still, Ignatius's voice drifted towards her, as the Manor wasn't exactly silenced.

"She's never quite been the same. I remember her so happy and always smiling and laughing... Now... She's angry. Always angry. She blames herself for my children's deaths, tortures herself over it all. It was never her fault. They made their own choices." She pressed her hand to her mouth, to keep a sob back, but a small noise escaped her. She needed to... to get away, but Iggy's voice followed her. "Happened nearly a year ago, I think. Anyway, she hates talking about it, so enough of that."

Ignatius must have sat because there was a sound of scraping chairs as Heather rushed up the stairs. She thrust open her bedroom door, the bedroom beside the Master suite, and once she managed to shut it, she sank down, breathing carefully. She had to focus on her breathing. It was a weakness to show such emotion. Because they could use it against her. And she couldn't afford to be weak.

She settled herself a few minutes later when there was a light knock on her bedroom door. She sucked in a breath, seeking strength, and rightened her appearance, gazing around her room. It was ... well, poor. While everything was tidy, there was very little inside. A dresser, a double bed she had shared with Orion, and a desk that held contents of plans, journals, anything to help with the war that wasn't in the study - the study Ignatius had let her take over.

"Enter," Heather stated, drawing herself towards the desk, looking over her lists of things that needed to be completed in the next few weeks - intelligence reports she needed to check out.

"Breakfast is ready," Ignatius stated quietly.

"I'll be down shortly. Thank you," Heather said quietly.

"I know it hurts, still... It hurts for everyone." She stiffened. "But... it mustn't bother you this much, unless there is something you aren't telling me." Heather's fingers traced the corner of a photo album, one she looked at in the late hours of the night when everyone was asleep. "Is there, Lyn?" Lyn. The name made her squeeze her eyes shut with emotion and she took a deep breath.

"Yes... but... I can't... I can't talk about it."

"Tonight, when they are gone?"

She nodded. She could do that. She could try, at least. She took another breath and glanced towards him, her neutral expression once more on her face. "The Order is eating?"

"They will once you arrive. Are the girls joining us?"

"No, they've already eaten," Heather stated simply. She walked past Iggy and he shut the door, before they walked down the stairs together. "They are certain that you are your brother in disguise, I suspect. Are you a Death Eater and you've yet to tell me?"

Ignatius laughed and she gave a heartfelt smile to the sound. She loved when she could make him laugh. "Oh, how did you find me out?"

"We all have our sources," she remarked.

She gave a cool expression to the Order as they glanced up at her reentrance and she acted as though it didn't phase her. They were idiots anyway. What they thought mattered not. Her seat was to the left of Ignatius and she glanced towards the plate waiting for her. An abundance of fruit as well as some grains.

"Where are the pancakes?"

"Too much butter," Heather remarked. "And the syrup has too much sugar. Only Ignatius eats a slightly unhealthy breakfast and I let it slide because he's old."

"Old?" Iggy demanded, looking suddenly like his older, slightly more demented brother. Heather smirked at the look. She loved it. "I'll have you know I'm younger than your parents."

"You certainly look old. And you've been slacking in your trainings. If you didn't loan this place, I'm certain I would have you eating air until you picked up your trainings once more." Heather shot him a wink and popped a grape into her mouth, a smile forming.

"Air would probably be more satisfying than this crap," Heather heard Ronald remark.

"Tore, please remove a quarter of Ronald Weasley's plate. We do not tolerate whining or complaints here, do we?"

"No, Miss. Of course, Miss." Said food was removed from Ron Weasley's plate in a blink and he let his jaw drop in shock. Heather gave him a smirk.

"You'll learn respect eventually, Ronald," she stated firmly.

"But there's not even sausage."

"Meats are for lunch and dinner. Breakfast is mainly fruits, a dairy item, and grains. As you'll see before you. Lunch consists of a sandwich, more fruit, and a soup item. And dinner is where most of us get the most calories for energy for the nightly training sessions - a large meat selection, another soup, a large vegetable variety, and a single glass of wine-"

"For the heart," Iggy commented.

"Of course," Heather agreed. "Dessert is usually a slice of chocolate once a week, a dairy item twice a week, and a sweet fruit four times a week. No alcohol is given besides the glass of wine. It doesn't even sit under this roof."

"Since the diet and trainings are so strict," Molly questioned. "What do you do for recreation?"

"The recreational activities we participate in are our trainings, Mrs. Weasley. I'm unsure if I understand your question," Heather answered, giving the woman a look that clearly wanted her to elaborate.

"Do you not listen to music? Paint? Shop?"

"What the girls choose to do in their time off, which is eight hours, is up to them. But the other sixteen are hours they spend with me. If they wish to lose their time for sleep, they can choose to do so. I could care less. They know their limits, and they know their body better than anyone else." Heather gave a nod. "They can choose to paint or listen to music in the comfort of their own room. Shopping is forbidden unless done in a group of four in a Muggle society, preferably in London, Madrid, or Milan, our closest large cities. No groups larger or smaller are permitted, nor are they allowed to break up into smaller groups. All dates are handled in the same matter. A group of four. We do not allow one on one dates as they are vulnerable. If a girl wishes to bring a man back to the Manor, they do so in a safe house a few miles away from us, on the property. It provides safety, yet also gives them privacy for interrogation and screening. Only then are they allowed entrance through the wards."

"And have any of your Dragons brought men back?"

"No, but the protocol is still in place," Heather stated simply. "Should the need ever arise." She glanced at Iggy. "Which I'm sure Iggy's grateful for. Strangers roaming the Manor are not tolerated."

"Each room is fitted with a warding system. No one is allowed entrance unless the ward says they may enter. You'll find other rooms on this floor and upstairs to be off limits to you - including the bedrooms, Heather's study, the library, and the sitting and drawing rooms."

"So, Heather, what do you do for fun?"

"I train," Heather stated with a bite of her strawberry. "And that is all I do. There is no need for me to do anything else. I've vowed my life in bringing Tom down, and so I am giving it."

"But... you aren't living," Molly murmured. "You're ... wasting your life training for one goal. And after it's done?"

"I will no doubt die in this war," Heather shrugged. "I do not have plans following it. I find such plans pointless. May I ask what your plans are following the war?"

"I... I haven't thought that far ahead, but I hope it includes peace and happiness," Molly said, a bit flustered by the turning of the tables. Heather smirked. All they wanted was peace and they didn't even know how to get there. How... quaint.

"And the future is likely to contain anything but," Heather pointed out. "People will die, regimes will fall, and you will be ... mourning a son, or two, perhaps die yourself. That is the happiness you will have, and that is the price you will pay for peace. Delusions only mask the reality of what is going on out there. Tom has murdered nearly two hundred thousand people since the start of the war two years ago. And he will keep murdering until he gets what he wants. And your family, as well as everyone sitting at this table, is on his hit list." Heather popped a grape into her mouth. "Don't delude yourself into thinking you'll come out of the war unscathed. You won't. None of you will."

Breakfast finished in silence, which Heather appreciated. She hated mindless chatter and questions. Just as much as she hated stupidity. "Madamoiselle?" Heather glanced up as the elves began taking away the empty plates and saw Cindy, clutching a green envelope. Heather was immediately to her feet, taking the small envelope from the werewolf. "Eet eez from Lucius Malfoi."

"Merci beaucoup," Heather murmured. She turned back towards the Order, her gaze on the envelope and she glanced up towards Ignatius. He nodded once and she tore it open.

"Oh, my, a verbal inquiry, I feel special," Heather smirked as it turned into something resembling a howler, only tame. Lucius always did love the dramatics. The Ministry often used such letters for when people needed to walk and read at the same time.

"Heatherlyn Draconis," Lucius's crisp voice stated. Heather let the letter follow her as she moved towards Ignatius. "Your request for Corsica Malfoy's remains in exchange for Rabastian Lestrange's remains is denied. We do not care for his remains as you seem to care for Miss Malfoy's. The Dark Lord sends his regards in your time of grieving." Heather let out a breath, to calm herself. "And also a reminder to the date in which you two had agreed upon last time you two were alone. He expects you to show as you always do." A few Order members looked upon her untrustingly. Good. That should be the first rule they learn. Never trust anyone. "We also extend another offer to join our cause. Your capabilities in the field is second to none." She smirked. "Our deepest sympathies, Lucius Malfoy."

"Tore, please record what I say into a return Speaker," Heather requested.

"Of course, Miss."

"What are you going to tell him?" Remus questioned. Heather didn't answer.


	4. 7 Days - Rest

She slipped over the eighth report from Marie, one of her Dragons that surveyed the intelligence feeds, and sighed. Three suspected attacks occuring in four days.

"You should rest." Heather glanced up sharply to see Ignatius standing in the doorway of the study, worry on his face. "How many days has it been?"

"Seven," Heather admitted. She glanced down at the folders, all of which would need to be sent out. "I'm almost done for the evening and tomorrow will be my rest day, I think."

"How awful were they?"

Heather groaned at the very thought. The Order had been atrocious. So undisciplined in the art of wandcraft that she nearly tore her hair out. "Worse than I expected, and since I expected them to be about first years, it was horrible," Heather said honestly. Ignatius winced. "I'll forever be grateful to you for teaching me what I know now," Heather told the man. "I would not be where I am today if you hadn't."

Ignatius gave her a smile, one of endearment and love. One that he rarely showed. "I was more than glad to take on the eleven year old girl and all of her friends as a tutor. When Corsica told me that you were so interested in fighting a war that hadn't even been whispered about yet... I knew I had to do what I could."

Heather smiled, glancing back down to her reports. "I'm sorry we couldn't get her back. I'm going to send another offer-"

"No," Ignatius said firmly. "We don't need Corsica's body to give her a proper farewell. We gave it to her eight months ago."

"It just doesn't feel right," Heather insisted. "She's there... who knows what they've done to the body-"

"Maybe they don't have it anymore," Ignatius said gently.

"So she's in some shallow grave?" Heather cried. "She was the best, Iggy. She fought like... like a warrior heading into battle. She was ... so talented. And you're sitting here, telling me that commemorate her by forgetting that there's a body out there somewhere-"

"The body is not her. Her soul rests-"

"But mine doesn't," Heather snapped. She sighed, glancing away from him. "I'm sorry... you're right. We can't keep negotiating... we have more pressing matters. Three attacks in the next four days, the Order has no skill... there are constant pressures on our wards... Our defenses are depleting. I don't have time to train more girls. We only have twenty left, and ... we're losing them like wildfire... Tom has the numbers, we have the strength, but number trump strength..." She sat heavily in the chair, sighing yet again, picking up a few pieces of parchment. "I can stretch my resources, get in touch with Madame Maxine, but... even if she sends me her best students, to train them from scratch... I vowed not to train anyone younger than my year, but... I may have to-"

"It's not just you," Iggy said gently, sitting in the chair across from the desk. "The girls can train them when you can't. They are more than qualified... I trained you, I can train them-"

"I don't know," Heather admitted. She didn't. She had no idea. "It was so... easy a few years ago, when he first rose. Before he gained all of his followers with scare tactics. What do we have? Glory to offer? Being a Dragon is... every single one of them approached me, asking me to join, asking me to take everything from them and make it better... No one wants to give that up, now. No one wants to ... to give up their families in times like these. Because family's all you've got left..." Heather settled a few parchment papers in the trashcan, which was full to the brim of them. She would have to burn them before she rested for the day. "Every one of my girls has had something taken from them, by the Death Eaters. Cindy, her humanity. Belle, her lifespan. Yasmina, her choices... Will I be able to find someone with enough drive? To train for days on end?"

"You will. Even if it's only five people, it's better than none."

He was right, she knew that, but she still didn't know if twenty five Dragons was enough against... against three hundred Death Eaters. "I'll write Olympe, have her gather her best, her willing... I'll schedule their training times, if I find any that are good enough, for evenings, so it doesn't interfere with Order training... And I'll do it at the school. It's risky... but, it's safer than having five blithering school girls giggle and whisper to their friends where we are."

"You used to be more trusting."

"I've learned that family and friends will turn on you," Heather said quietly. "I don't trust anyone... not even you, and you know that."

"Yet you do, at the same time."

"Everyone can turn in the war, if given the right incentive," Heather said quietly. "I'm glad that the contract with the girls will... ensure they don't defect, but... I still worry. We can't lose any numbers. We may fight strong, with the promise that we have infinite numbers to Tom, who believes it, but... if he calls our bluff-"

"We'd be demolished."

She nodded to herself, to him, and then picked up a small photo album, the one from her room. She stood, passing it to him. "You wished to discuss what I was hiding. I think it better if you look through this yourself." He took it slowly and she felt an emotion swelling her throat. "I don't think I can talk of it... I can't even talk of your children without ..." She stopped, unable to continue. It was rare for her to admit weakness. "Give it back when you finish, is all I ask, and... I'll answer questions then. I have to rest for the day. When the Order arrives tomorrow morning, Arielle will be in charge. She is my second in command and capable enough."

Iggy was still clutching the photo album, worriedly. He was trying to guess what was inside. "Is this about Remus?"

"No... I wish it were," Heather said quietly. She kissed his cheek gently before moving towards the study door. "Goodnight, Papa."

"Goodnight, Heather."

She went through periods of activity, and then a day of rest, before the cycle continued. Each time, the days of activity would vary so that no set schedule could be determined - potentially leak, and leave them all vulnerable. The girls, however, followed a strict schedule of two days training, an evening of rest, before two days training. In two groups, so that there were never an amount that were all resting. She made sure it was that way.

When she awoke that morning, she felt fully rejuvinated, and with a quick glance at the clock, was able to determine that she was up just in time for evening work-outs, and 4:00 swims. She showered, first, and then ate a quick bowl of fruit, before climbing down the stairs of the training room. She didn't want to be noticed, yet, so Heather stood at the stairs, watching them all fail miserably at their attempts at non-verbal duelling. It was step one for all of her Dragons.

A step they mastered in twenty four hours.

"Check your form, Potter," Heather barked as Harry nearly stumbled over his own feet. It drew attention to her and she climbed over the rail of the stairs, dropping to the ground below and she waved Yasmina away, before looking Potter over. "How much duelling training have you had?"

"Er, once in second year?"

She blinked him. He was joking, right? Hogwarts had a duelling club. "And, you didn't think, you, being the Chosen One and all, that Duelling Club would have been a wonderful use of your time?"

"I did help teach my entire year Defense because of Umbridge-"

"Wonderful," Heather said sarcastically. "Now they all fight as horribly as you."

"She needs to get laid, mate-"

"Would you like it to be you?" Heather countered, turning to face Weasley. "I'm trying to save your lives. All of you are attrocious, do you realize that? If one of my girls can knock you down and they aren't even trying... Tom will obliterate you. All of you. I have roughly, twenty five members, including me and Iggy and a few others. You have... maybe fifty? Official members? That leaves us with ... seventy or so. Let's count Tom's numbers, shall we?" She stepped away from Potter, turning to face the entirety of the Order that was gathering, and not training. Didn't they know how to listen and duel? "Fifty inner circle members. That's just your numbers alone. Let's add their children, a further.. forty? Double your numbers. Then let's add all of his scragglers, marked, and equally as deadly - two hundred. That leaves two hundred and ninety, in case you can't count. Six times the Order's forces - officially. You have friends, children, students, professors - bringing your numbers to let us say... a hundred and fifty, on a good day. Tom... on the other hand, has at least a thousand supporters all over the world that will answer his call into battle if he asks... That leaves you..." She did the math in her head, giving them a chance to let it sink in. "One thousand, one hundred and forty Death Eaters you still have to fight. Twenty five times your numbers - officially. Does that scare you?"

"People join him in fear-"

"Exactly," Heather said simply, cutting Remus off. "Because people think he will win and they don't want to be on the losing side... and right now, I'm certain he'll win, because those thousand I mentioned? They aren't just witches and wizards. They are werewolves, and vampires, and arcromantulas, and giants, and trolls, and dementors. Do you even know the first thing about fighting any of those? Besides Mad-Eye, Lupin, and Nymphadora." They didn't and she was pleased with the looks on their faces - the looks that showed just how scared they were for a future that was uncertain. "So whatever I teach you, whatever my girls teach you, or Iggy teaches you, or the house-elves teach you... listen to it. Because your fighting is so awful that I ..." She gave a breathless laugh, turning away from them. "I'm almost thinking of joining Tom myself."

"How can you say we're so awful?" Harry said suddenly. "I haven't seen you train. And by the looks of those scars, you aren't always the winner."

"Do you want to?" Heather questioned, turning. "See me train? See my girls train? Do you want us to not start easy? But instead throw you right in? Five miles when you first arrive, five before you leave." She gave him a pleasant smile. "I'll give you exactly that. Our training regiment. To the T. And if you can't keep up, then you sure as hell better try, because I won't be slowing it down. If he calls a mass attack on... Hogwarts? Tomorrow? Would you be able to survive it?" Harry didn't answer. "Would you, Potter?"

"I've survived before-"

"Do we need to have that sheer dumb luck and stupidity talk again?" Heather questioned. "Because I can give it. Girls, grab a partner from the Order. I want full training with one of them. You go through your routine with your partner. You do not make friends, you do not go easy on them, and if I find you are, you will be punished. And I don't think any of you want to do pain tolerance training before your scheduled date." The Dragons nodded quickly, each selecting their partner. "I get Potter." She rolled her shoulders, still slightly stiff from her sleep, but ready none-the-less. She lived for training. She lived for this.

She downed Potter in four seconds, slamming him into the cement ground harder than he anticipated and he groaned. She snorted, turning away from him to resume her starting distance. "That's how long you would last in battle." She turned, watching as he slowly stood. "Another thing, girls. If you lose a duel, you'll be punished, as well." She smirked at Potter. "Good incentive, I think. Try to beat me."

He didn't. She was very confident in that regard, and he seemed frustrated with his inability to duel her... effectively. Good. He needed to learn failure in order to stay away from it. If he was one of those sort. Some experienced failure and then wallowed in it. If he was that type, she may just murder him to save Tom the trouble.

She ended their duel with a stinging hex on his face and he groaned as he fell to the ground. "Potter, I'm not even using anything over your year in spells," Heather smirked. "Are you sure you just finished sixth year?" She sighed and turned, moving towards the pool. "It's time to switch our exercise. We swim for four miles."

"What?" Harry demanded.

"We don't have all day to hear your complaints. Tell me once dinner starts."

It was almost tangible, the hate he felt for her, by the time they ended with the archery.

"I don't understand what this has to do with anything," Harry muttered.

"Accuracy, aim, form, discipline. It has to do with everything," Heather responded simply. She set her bow down, waiting for him to do the same, before she moved towards the targets, pulling the arrows from the stiff boards. "You'll learn to train yourself. Let's all hope it's not too late."

Her gaze traveled to the exhausted, pathetic group of Order members and her eyes were particularly focused on Mad-Eye and Aurore, battling very expertly in the duelling field. And he seemed to be winning. She was pleased that Aurore wasn't backing down - in fact, she was even more determined to win. But Alastor had nearly thirty years of Aurors and Death Eaters and training himself on his side. She was disarmed and knocked into the ground just as an elf arrived to announce dinner.

"Aurore!" Heather snapped. The girl quickly got off of the ground, grabbing her wand and standing straight, stiffly. "You've lost."

"I submeet myself to pain tolerance," Aurore said simply.

"Come," Heather stated, and the Order followed as Aurore was directly behind Heather, following her up the stairs.

"What exactly is pain tolerance?"

"All of my girls, when they joined, signed a contract - this contract gives me the ability to punish as I see fit. However, Aurore," Heather stated as they stood in the middle of the foyer. She turned to face the blonde, who followed, the Order stopping on the outskirts. "I find that the fight, while fair, was more for teaching them, than ensuring your training is up to date." Heather glanced towards the Order. "You will forgo your day of rest, in punishment, to catch up on the training you failed to excel in today." She sucked in a breath. "From now on, the Order is subject to pain tolerance. Starting tomorrow. Aurore... I grant you the opportunity to punish, to show them exactly what I'm building them up to."

"Madamoiselle," Aurore said, horrified. "I cannot do zat-"

"You will or I will torture you," Heather snapped. "Do it."

She sucked in a breath, nodding, and she conjured a dagger, one similar to the one that had torn Heather apart all those months ago. As she approached Heather, Heather noticed Remus understand what was about to happen-

"She'll die!" Remus snapped. "This is insane."

"She is not hitting any vital organs," Heather stated simply, her chin lifted to show that she was not afraid. Aurore moved around her, trying to find a good spot to strike. "The elves here are always ready with healing remedies... None of us are injured for more than five minutes and none of us suffer. We are able to be given the pain over and over again with very little damage to our own bodies. I daresay we don't even scar. Unless, of course, the pain lasts for longer than five minutes. The wound will start to scar, by then, because of our magic." And suddenly the dagger was plunging into Heather's ribs, puncturing a lung, but not doing much else. Bloody hell.

She sucked in a breath as Aurore stepped away from her quickly. It hurt to breathe. But she did not collapse. She stood very relaxed in front of the Order, who had all gasped or cried out. She met Remus's eyes, her breathing shallow and careful. She didn't want to cause any other damage. And then she pulled the dagger out, dropping it to the floor. She was bleeding. That much was obvious.

"Merlin's beard, Heather!" Remus cried.

She held up a bloody hand, signalling him to wait and spoke carefully. "Aurore, now."

"Crucio."

She sucked in a sharp breath just before the spell hit her and landed hard on her knees, her eyes squeezed shut as she controlled her breathing. It had taken six years of tolerance, but she could successfully not scream. It was glorious and the pain was comforting. It reminded her that she was human, that she could feel.

"Stop it!" Remus cried. "Stop-"

"Aurore," Heather said calmly, her eyes still squeezed shut. The spell stopped immediately and Heather stood, her hand pressed against her wound on her side. Her eyes opened to see the Order looking horrified. "You may not believe that I was ripped open, but I assure you, it was true." She licked her lips to keep them with some moisture, feeling her head start to be a little faint. "Tizzy?" An elf appeared suddenly and began to perform magic on the wound, healing it internally and then externally. "Thank you." She sucked in a careful breath. "I currently have a punctured lung, a severed artery, and am suffered from a muscle spasm, caused by Cruciatus. If you have anything to learn from me it's pain. And it will save you in the end."

"The Unforgivables for illegal," Granger argued.

"So they are," Heather agreed. Tizzy apparated away once the wound was healed and she eyed them for a moment. "Do you forgive me, Aurore? For the eighty-seven times you've been subjected to the Cruciatus?"

Aurore seemed surprised by the question. "Bien sur, madamoiselle. Eet benefeets us in zee end."

Heather gave them a smirk. "See?" She pulled her wand from her shorts and cast a cleansing charm on the blood, getting rid of it. "There are three different ways we do pain tolerance. Cruciatus. Wounds. Mental images that will cause distress, fear, or destruction. Nightmares, essentially. We use all three at any point in a session. It makes us stronger."

"So what's your worst fear?"

Heather grinned at Weasley's stupid question. "I don't trust any of you. Why would I ever tell you?" She walked purposefully through the hall so that they could move towards the dining room. "My worst fear is something only Tom and myself know," Heather said simply. "Very nasty business, you see." Their dinner was a hearty meal, the same as it had been the day before, and as she turned from requesting the dinner from the elves, Remus cleared his throat. Heather sat, glancing at him.

"Heather... How did you get those scars on your back...? They look almost like tattoos, but they're much too jagged."

Heather simply smirked, sipping from her wine. "Oh... Yes, nasty bit of magic. If we continue on the path we're on, you'll no doubt get to experience it first hand."

"But... when did they happen?" Remus tried once more.

Heather simply blinked at him and set her wine glass down. "If I were to tell you that, Remus, I would have to tell you the whole story, and I don't think you're able to hear the full story. You always were squeemish, even when I was a girl."

"I..." He frowned slightly. "Heather-"

"'eazzer!" a voice shouted from the foyer. Heather's hand, reaching for her wine glass, paused and her eyes flickered up, a sharp breath leaving her.

"No," she murmured. And she was up, running, as fast as she could, until she spotted just what had caused the fuss. Aurore was leaning over a dark, bloodied body, the black robes tattered and the blood pooling on the white marble. She slid on her knees, knowing she had bruised them horribly with the action, and landed beside the figure.

"Ee just appeared," Aurore insisted. "Portkey."

Heather's eyes searched for any source of the wound but she couldn't find any. She pulled at the black Death Eater robes, pulling off the silver mask. "Aurore, I need you to get the Healing Potion from my Office. It's in my left top drawer. Hurry."

"Heather, who-" Heather threw the mask and black robes aside, before her hand gently cradled the dark skinned boy, biting her lip in worry. "Bloody hell..."

"Blaise?" she questioned urgently, her fingers pulling at his eyelid, to see that his pupil dialated as it was supposed to. "Oh, thank Merlin... Can you hear me? Blaise Zabini!"

The body beneath her groaned and she sighed in relief. "Shh.. it's alright," she promised. "We'll make you better... Is he aware of our location? Is it safe here?"

"Iss... Safe," Blaise muttered through gritted teeth. "Bloody hell, I think I got a bit of damage." She gave a breathless laugh, her fingers grazing along a cut on his cheek.

"A bit," Heather agreed. She moved away from his face, him awake enough to know to stay still, and she peeled away the blood stained top, spotting the extent of his injuries. It was bad... Merlin. She could see his organs. A horrified gasp sounded behind her. She pressed her hand firmly to the wound, as any pressure on the blood flow was better than none. He let out a pained gasp. "Aurore!" Heather shouted, her eyes flicking up to the stairs. The Dragon was flying, nearly slipping on the floor as she hurriedly turned to head down the stairs. Once the potion was presented to Heather, she took it with bloodied hands and forced Blaise to drink before she began to use healing charms on the actual wounds.

"'eazzer, ee's bleeding too much-"

"I know," Heather snapped. She set her wand down. "Where's Iggy?"

"In 'is bedroom-"

"Get him," Heather informed the girl. And Aurore was running off again. "Blaise? This is going to bloody hurt but... alright, I need you to keep pressure. I need to-" But he already lifted a shaky hand and pressed it to the bloody wound.

Heather closed her eyes, taking a deep breath, and was suddenly struck with the image of her laying on the ground, bleeding, much like he was, only... only worse. And she had been crying, sobbing, entirely... broken. The image made her shake herself and then she was hands deep in his body, causing him to groan.

"I have to find the tear in your organs," Heather said quietly. Almost apologetically. Her fingers felt along the organs, all slippery, wet from his blood, and when she found the tear, Iggy was walking down the stairs as quickly as he could. "Ruptured spleen, I believe. It looks like it wasn't an intentional wound, possibly he fell on something sharp-"

"Bloody fence when apparating," Blaise groaned and she held onto the tear, glancing back towards Iggy.

"I'm applying pressure, but he's losing too much blood. He won't make it much longer. We need to stitch him-" And an elf was ordered to get the gear. She forced her breathing to remain calm, but she was ebbing on that world of panic. Ebbing on passing out. Strong. She had to be strong. And then the needle and thread, magical, were presented.

Iggy had taught such healing methods to her in third year when she had accidentally injured herself in the firing range. "I'll do it," Iggy told her firmly. "Your hands are shaking from your pain tolerance-" Oh. Yes. She supposed they were. "Keep him still." So she slipped one hand out of the wound on his stomach, grabbing Blaise's own, as if to keep him rooted in place. To life.

"Big breath," Heather requested quietly. "And if you start to cry, I swear to Merlin, this will look like nothing once I'm through."

"Glad Orion suggested those pain lessons when I first got the mark, aren't I?" he muttered, groaning as Iggy slipped his hand into the wound. "Would say it tickles, but it hurts way too much for that-"

"A little pleasure and pain, how kinky," she retorted with a smirk. He coughed out a laugh. Her grip on his own hand was tight, and slippery, but he clutched at it, revealing how much it truly hurt. And once the tear was sealed, she slipped her hand from its holding space inside of his body. Iggy then nodded to her to start healing the wound fully, and so she did. "Are you able to stand?"

"I'm injured, not crippled."

Her lips twitched. It was something she had said to him, once, once upon a time. "Still, your injuries severed your muscles in your abdomen. I doubt you will be able to walk for a few days with the proper potions." He grunted and, clutching her hand, rolled over onto his side, using her strength as support. And then he slowly began to curl his body under himself, so that he could stand.

She kept her grip firmly on his arm, to help. He heavily leaned on his other side, and he didn't seem eager to take any steps, but he was fine. He would survive another meeting, at least.

"What the hell is that Slytherin scumbag doing here?" Ginevra Weasley demanded.

Heather merely smirked and looked him over, not minding the blood that litered her body. "We were just having dinner. Would you care to join us? I'll let you have chocolate dessert, if you so desire."

"Oh, you really care about me," he muttered, wincing as he shuffled forward a step. "But I think I need to lay down... At least until the pain potion kicks in."

She could agree to that. "Rest," she said quietly. "Of course. Tinky?" The elf in question appeared. "Take us to my bedroom. I want to see to it that he's comfortable while we wait for the potion to begin working."

And they were gone. But he wasn't allowed to relax on the bed just yet. "You are not getting my sheets bloody," she said firmly, pulling the soiled articles of clothing from him as he leaned on her desk to support himself. A quick cleansing charm left him looking as good as new. "What happened?"

"I had a lot on my mind," Blaise admitted. "After the meeting. And I apparated home, to change, before I came here for the evening and... I landed about a foot away from my usual destination, on top of the fence. And as I was properly skewered, I grabbed my portkey before I could really panic."

"You were right to," she complimented. "I think you scared the daylights out of Aurore, and myself, but... you're alright."

He smirked, watching as she folded the Death Eater garb, placing it for the elves to wash. "You were itching for the excuse to see me naked."

She looked him over. Naked as the day he was born, and raised an eyebrow. "You know me so well," she said dryly. "You mentioned a meeting. About?"

"There's an attack tomorrow evening in Bristol. One in the afternoon in Highgate." She nodded. She knew about Highgate, but Bristol was news. "Muggle communities. He's hoping to take numbers for Greybacks packs to build up for the seige of Hogwarts." Of course. It had become so far in the future, she hadn't given it a fair bit of thought. There was nothing she could do to prevent the seige. It was best if Hogwarts was taken.

"I will look into what can be done, but if he's just intended to convert Muggles to wolves, I doubt there is much I can do. Last I interfered with Greyback, Cindy nearly died. I don't need to lose more girls." She glanced past his naked form to the documents on the desk. "Have you gotten a recent number count?"

"Three hundred and four."

She shut her eyes painfully. Merlin, way more than she realized. "You're certain?"

"It's nearly twelve times your numbers, Heather-"

"I'm aware," Heather murmured. "I can't afford to lose another girl. Tom's bound to catch onto the fact that the girls that show to battle are all I have left." She grabbed her quill gently and marked out the number 208, changing it to 304. The werewolf packs had grown immensly since the end of term. "Our bluff is all we have."

"What's the Order doing downstairs?"

"I've taken over their training. I'm trying to give them a chance." She hesitated. "That being said, they aren't really trying... What you witnessed was their attempt to tell me what they thought was right."

"They know of my involvement, now," Blaise muttered. Heather sighed and turned away from him, digging through her closet to find some clothing for him. There had to be something of Orion's he could wear. "I suppose it's best, in case something were to happen and I was compromised."

"You weren't compromised, correct?"

"No. I'm insignificant enough," Blaise promised. She nodded, glad of the fact. None of the information could be traced back solely to him, then. She tossed a shirt and a pair of shorts towards him to change. He began to do so at once. "Heather... I just... I want to say thank you."

"What for?" she asked, confused. "I've done nothing-"

"For living." Oh. She swallowed, unsure how to respond. "I know you wish you hadn't, but... the war would have been over with your death." She doubted that fact. But still, she waited for him to change and noticed when he began to relax more, as the pain potion kicked in. "I feel better, now."

"Feel up for dinner, or would you like to lay for a bit?"

"Dinner," he nodded, but he grabbed her wrist as she made for the door. "Wait..." She paused. She hated when he visited. She hated it because he always was so concerned about her. As if she was some fragile China that would break. "When was the last time you slept?"

"Last night to this afternoon," she answered. "It had been seven days."

The look he gave her clearly conveyed he wasn't fond of her abnormal sleep pattern. "Sleep tonight. You need more sleep."

"I'm only going to train for a few hours, and then I'm going to read on the balcony," she shrugged. "It will be enough."

"Heather-"

She glanced at him, her stare firm. "Blaise."

He sighed, releasing her hand and blinked rapidly as he glanced towards the door. "You're hurting yourself. You don't need to keep this schedule just because he's gone."

Her gaze hardened and she pulled her door open quickly, stepping into the hall. She chose not to comment. When she reached the foyer, the Order could be heard arguing in the dining hall. She rolled her eyes, a small smirk touching her lips in pleasure. She loved when people argued. It showed weaknesses.

When she appeared, it was silent and when Blaise appeared next to her, only a step behind, Heather was pleased to see the Order's fury. She still said nothing as she walked to her normal seat, Iggy apparently absent for that meal - perhaps he was eating in his room. He didn't share dinner with them all every night, and after Blaise had appeared like that, it most likely stirred some unwelcome memories.

"Iggy won't be joining us this evening," she stated as she sat, seeing that Ignatius was in fact, no where in the room. Blaise sat beside her, a firm smirk on his face, much like the Malfoy boy that was more like Lucius than his own person.

"What's he doing here?" Mad-Eye growled.

"Ignatius owns this manor, Alastor. I thought you already knew that," Heather stated simply, reaching for her wine glass. He growled. "Oh, did you mean Blaise?" She smirked, sipping from the red wine. "Yes, well, that is a secret. We mustn't tell, must we, Blaise?"

"I'm an intelligence feed for the Golden Dragons," Blaise informed them, reaching for his own glass. Heather simply licked her lips and set her glass down. "I live here most days."

"Visit, but details," Heather corrected. She flickered her gaze towards Remus, and then towards the rest of the Order. "Your pain tolerance begins tomorrow. I do hope you remember that when you go to sleep tonight. I will personally see to each one of your pains with great pleasure. But first, let us share our greatest fears, shall we?"

"Our fears?" the twins repeated. "Why?"

She smirked. "I cannot make you stronger if I do not know what makes you weak."

"My children, dead," Molly spoke quietly. Heather glanced at her. "You are referring to our boggart forms, correct?"

"Correct," Heather agreed. She began to file away the information. "For instance, Tom's is death."

"Why should we be telling you this?" Mad-Eye pressed. "How do we know you won't use it against us?"

"Oh, I absolutely will be," Heather agreed whole-heartedly. "That is the point of you telling me. But you needn't tell me, Alastor, I already know your fear." He seemed to pale slightly. "Not fond of the woods, are you?"

"How did you know about that?" he hissed, his single human eye glaring at her murderously while the magical eye darted around the room, like he was being spied on.

"I know everything about the Aurors. I made it my job in my third year."

"Third year?" Remus whispered. "You said you wanted to know about the Aurors because you were interested!" Remus cried suddenly.

Heather smirked. "Oops. Children lie." She glanced back towards Alastor. "He told me about your injuries, and I did a bit of my own research once I got back to school. January 9th, 1968. Nearly thirty years ago, in fact. Thirty years, and you're still afraid?"

"Then what's your fear, you bloody stupid girl?" Alastor growled. "You get to know ours but we don't get to know yours?"

"I don't trust you," she said simply. "And I'm strong enough. You... on the other hand." Her eyes stilted to Remus. "Well?"

"You already know," Remus said stiffly.

"You really should learn to accept it, you know," Heather said nonchalantly. "Cindy has, and she is stronger for it." Her eyes turned then to Arthur. "Let me guess, spiders? Maybe... the same as your wife's boggart?"

"I don't know." He didn't know? She would remedy that. But it was best done privately. First time boggarts are always... well, emotional.

"Fear," Potter spoke up, from beside him. "At least, that's what Remus says. It's a dementor."

She jerked in surprise, but covered it by reaching for her wine glass. "Oh, you may yet have some bravery in you. However, a dementor does not always mean fear. There are many interpretations. You may fear being a soulless monster, like Tom. Or a evil entity that feeds off of others, like Tom. Or it could be fear, also like Tom. Maybe you just fear being Tom," Heather smirked. "Interesting. I'll keep that for reference. We may have use for that one."

"Spiders," Ron answered in a hoarse whisper. "I hate spiders."

"How pathetic," Heather commented.

"Oi, I'll have you know-"

"You're known as the unwanted child," Heather interrupted. "And that is your greatest fear, subconsciously or not. You fear being unwanted. And what will happen when no one wants the useless, spare child?" He didn't have an answer, instead paling slightly. "Yes, but it's best you tell people that spiders is your fear. You'll probably be stronger for it."

"Failing an exam," Hermione spoke.

Heather blinked at her. Was she serious? "When was the last time you lot were in front of a boggart?"

"Third year," the twins spoke up together. "Loads of fun-"

She groaned, cradling her head in her hands. "I'm either losing it or they just told me that they literally have no experience outside of their mandated studies." Blaise was laughing under his breath, clearly having a field day with this information. "You lot are shitting me, right?" she demanded, staring up at them. All of the recent students seemed uncomfortable with the confrontation. "This is all a joke? You could be called to a mission any minute and you haven't studied anything since you graduated? Or you were in school?"

"Uh... yeah."

"Oh, this is rich," Blaise said gleefully. "Quality. I can't believe you actually agreed to train them. It's like you're playing with your food before you actually go for it-"

She had to smile at that. She could feel a migrane coming on, though, and she was going to seriously need to rant later. "I wouldn't be laughing. You'll be the one that has to hear it later."

Blaise didn't seem bothered in the slightest and reached for a wine glass, a smirk tainting his otherwise innocent look. "Definitely looking forward to that." She thought he might. It always ended up the same way.

"What does he mean by that?" Remus demanded. "Heather?"

She chose not to answer and when dinner arrived, happily dug in. "You know what I enjoy on a good night like this," Heather said suddenly. "Boggarts. I think I'll go hunting for one with the girls. The attic most likely has one."

"I thought you kept it in the panic room," Blaise questioned.

Heather nodded, cutting into the chicken on her plate. "Oh, yes, we did. But it escaped when one of the girl's fears was dissertion. I don't exactly blame her. The consequences are ... well life-threatening." She glanced towards Blaise, popping a piece of chicken in her mouth. "So, now I have to wrangle it back."

"I say you forget about it tonight," Blaise murmured. She knew that. He always wanted her to relax when he came by, to take the night off and get some rest. "I'll help you on research or something."

"You've told me all I need to know. The proper girls will be put on mission and we will wait for the results," Heather told him simply. "There is no other research to do. I need to administer the wolfsbane to Cindy and then I need to catch up on the trainings I missed while sleeping-"

"Your rest was scheduled. Today is supposed to be a rest day. That means you don't train," Blaise reminded her.

"It means I have time to catch up on everything I haven't had the chance for," Heather stated sharply. "So, yes, I train." She popped another piece of chicken in her mouth. "Stop trying to make my schedule change, Blaise. It won't change."

"The day I stop trying will be the day I die," Blaise snorted. "You're exhausting yourself."

"I've rested. I'm fine." Her voice was firm and Blaise just gave her a look that clearly told her she was lying. She always was more tired on her first day of rest. "Blaise."

"Fine," he muttered. "This isn't over."

"I think you'd be dissatisfied if it was," Heather remarked. The rest of the conversation with the Order was tense and when she showed them out, Remus grabbed her arm.

"What aren't you telling us?"

Heather stared at him impassively for a brief second before glancing towards the portal. "Things are dangerous for many people to know. And therefore, dangerous for you to know. If I wanted you to know, I would have told you already. So, stop asking questions I won't give you answers to."

"The scars-"

"None of your concern."

"Who knows about them? Who knows about them over your own family, Heather?" Remus asked, and she could hear the confusion, the pain in his voice. She hated it.

"Iggy, my girls, and Blaise. No one else needs to know."

"Heather-"

"Get back to the Order before I seal the portal."

"Why don't you trust me anymore?"

"Because every time I've asked for you, Remus, for help or for you to be there, you weren't," Heather snapped. "Every time I tried to be there for you, all you did was wallow in self-pity and depression and I couldn't find out a way to get you out of it. You weren't getting out of it. So I moved on. I found a new family, I found somewhere else to be and that's why I stopped showing up at your home. Because it wasn't my home anymore." Remus winced at the insinuation. "I couldn't stay with that. It was only holding me back. I've recognized my true potential."

"It. You mean me."

She rolled her eyes. "You were always so sentimental, Remus. Yes. I mean you. If people recognized me as the leader of an organization and the ward of a werewolf? How seriously would they take the Golden Dragons? But by severing our ties-"

Remus nodded, stepping away from her. "I get it." There it was. The rigid, unfeeling Remus. She had learned from someone. "I was holding you back."

She watched as he crossed the portal and then she sealed it, sealing the closet, and then she took a breath of air. It was always refreshing for the Order to be gone. "You didn't mean that."

She glanced at Blaise, before moving towards the staircase. "I know. Are you coming or not?"

"Yes, dear," Blaise grinned.


	5. 1 Day, No Sleep

"Can we please just talk about this?" Blaise demanded.

"There's nothing to talk about," Heather snapped. "I told him the truth."

"A truth you don't believe," Blaise informed her. "So don't even try to convince me that you believed it." She glared at him, moving behind the desk of the office. "How many times have you wanted to go back but you couldn't, because you knew that he wouldn't understand - not that he would hold you back."

Heather slammed down the alcohol in her hand down onto the desk. "He was developing an emotional attachment," she cried. "I don't care if I hurt him, or if I ruined our relationship. Newsflash, it wasn't much to begin with."

Blaise sighed. "Heather, you know how you feel about Remus-"

"Weakness," Heather said offhandedly. "That's all. I'm distancing myself-"

"He's all the family you have left-"

"And my family is dying. So, I really don't want to have another one I'm close to die-" Blaise nodded, like she had spilled the secrets of the world. "Blaise-"

"That's why. You don't want to be hurt again like Orion and Corsica." Her gaze dropped and she grabbed the glass of firewhiskey, drinking from it as her eyes burned with tears. "Remus isn't them. He's your uncle. He's practically your father-"

"He's not my father!" Heather shouted. Blaise calmly took the glass from her before she could throw it. "Okay. He's not. And he's never even tried, Blaise. All I wanted was for him to at least try. Iggy tries. Merlin, Iggy tries... and I love him but... it's not the same." Heather sank down into her chair. "I miss him so much. Remus... I want to go back, I think about it all the time, but what's for me there? A pathetic Order?" She laughed darkly. "They can't even hold their wand properly in a duel. They're so worthless that they might as well be first years!"

"I know."

"Not a single boggart since third year?" she continued, "If I would have stayed there, I would be exactly like them. My dedication to the war would have been sucked out of me by the lack of enthusiasm. My drive replaced for mindless things. My parents would be distant memories."

"You wouldn't have met Orion, that's for sure."

She winced, hating even the thought. Her memories of Orion were precious. For them to not exist? "I couldn't imagine a life without meeting him." She glanced up and Blaise winced at the tears. "Remus can't know, Blaise. Please, don't ever tell Remus."

"About the baby." Heather hiccuped, burying her head in her arms as she rested it on the desk. "He needs to know, Heather. He needs to know why it can't be the same-"

"Not about that," Heather swore. "Please, not about that."

"Does Iggy know?"

"I gave him the photos... He should know soon... When he's ready to talk, I'll give him answers..." Heather lifted her gaze, wiping under her eyes. "I just-all I want is to make Iggy happy and this has to hurt him. Remus can't know... He's protected me, since I was little. He's cared for me. He nurtured me. Taught me so much... and I spit in his face, threw it all at him like it was nothing. And to tell him that the one time I kicked him out of my life, I end up gutted and his surrogate grandchild murdered?"

"He would blame himself," Blaise agreed. "Can you sleep tonight, please? The last few days have been stressful. You haven't been able to train to your full potential, nor do you have as much energy."

"Yelling at the bastards does take a lot of energy," Heather agreed quietly. He finished her firewhiskey for her and she took the moment to haul in her emotions. Heather pulled her hair out of her face, tucking it into a bun. He raised an eyebrow at her. "Sleep sounds good," she admitted at last.

"Thank you." She just nodded, standing up and moving towards the door. He was quick to follow, but she could tell the pain potion was wearing off by the way he rose out of the chair. No fun, then.

"Come on," she said quietly. "Demi? A pain potion, please."

"Not again," Blaise groaned.

"You don't get a choice." He reluctantly followed anyway. She forced him to drink the pain potion before she pulled back the covers to her bed, shedding herself of her training clothing.

"You look good," Blaise commented. Heather glanced down at herself. In her underwear. She was fit, she knew that, but the scars and ashes embedded into her skin... it had made her scrub herself until she was raw for weeks. Only now did she come to terms with them. Yes, they were permanent, but they were also things she would rather do without. She glanced towards him, in his own underwear, reaching for her bedcovers.

"You too," she said softly. Sliding under the covers was an easy choice and she could feel his body heat beside her. "Tomorrow morning you tell me everything from your meeting."

"I will."

She fell asleep, unused to the double rest. And because of the double rest, she awoke earlier than she usually rose, and earlier than Blaise. She laid there, their skin touching, the Mark of his arm visible as it stretched out under her, his other arm curled around her. She enjoyed their closeness, the friends with benefits relationship she shared. It hadn't been enstated long, but it was something the both of them needed.

War had brought about a need for closeness and they worked without the emotional ties of romantic intentions. They were friends - good friends, but friends. And they both knew that if either died in the war, there was nothing that could be done to change it. War happened. And people died. And they would die.

She stared at the Dark Mark, her eyes watching the cycle of the snake leaving the skulls mouth occur over and over again. She didn't want to leave the bed. She didn't want to go to trainings. She didn't want to see the Order.

Because of the Order.

If the Order was making her dread trainings, she didn't want to be associated with the Order. It didn't work that way. She was dedicated to trainings because she loved training. And nothing was to change that. "The Order is here," Blaise murmured. "Arrived an hour ago." Her eyes lifted to her clock, reminding her it was nearing nine. "Demi came by to tell you." She sighed softly before turning in his arms, smiling softly. "Aurore is in charge."

"You need to send flowers to the poor girl. She thought you were dead."

"So did you," he smirked. "You were losing it."

"It was unsettling," she admitted after a second. "I was fine... I was collected and memories just... not just me, but Orion... It was a bit much. I lost it. But... I'm fine."

"You didn't take a tonic for your tremors."

"Sleep is the best remedy. You tell me that often." She slid from his arms, though, out of the bed and towards her closet. His clothing was pressed and folded neatly on her desk and he was already moving for it. Heather selected a sports bra and a pair of shorts for the day, knowing she would be spending most of it running.

"On the plus side, it's pain tolerance day." She had forgotten. But she smiled, and Blaise chuckled, amused.

"I knew there was a reason you were one of my favorites."

"Favorite? Hell yes." She laughed quietly, but left him to dress as she headed downstairs, finding the Order still attending breakfast. Quaint. But there were bigger fish to fry. Ignatius was not with them, which she was a bit surprised about. Perhaps he was still taking time?

"You were asleep when we got here," Arthur spoke up. "Aurore let us in-"

"As was the command given," Heather returned. "Assumptions will only weaken your defenses." She seated herself in her usual chair, grabbing a glass of water. "Blaise will be arriving shortly. He does not retain energy as easily as I."

Remus choked on the eggs he forked in his mouth. The insinuation made her smirk. Well, he could think it all he wanted. "Today is pain tolerance day. And I am looking forward to it. Though, I'm unsure if I want to do it before or after dinner. It is known to take away appetites. And if you eat beforehand, you may not have food in your stomach after."

"We aren't Dragons. We are Order members. We don't have to do this-"

"You gave up the right to tell me how to train you," Heather snapped. "So, yes, you do have to do this. It is not as bad as you make it seem. If it were, wouldn't my girls be dead or deserted by now?"

"You're talking about torture, not having tea-"

"Eventually you will be able to have tea and undergo pain tolerance. It is quite fun. There are biscuits." Her meal was finished in minutes and it was then that Blaise came down, lazily, as if he had taken a nap in her absence. She hoped not.

"When are you meeting him?"

"Tomorrow evening. We're negotiating the importance of Nagini." Heather saw recognition in Harry Potter's eyes.

"You're going to go on a date with Voldemort so that you can talk about his snake?"

Heather laughed quietly. "Of course. It's called courting death."

"You said that I have the mark of death," Harry said suddenly. "Can you tell me what that means?"

She glanced to Blaise, before looking back to Harry. "I happen to know on good authority that you are apart of the Dark Lord's soul." His eyes bugged. "But, that's tedious matters that can't be discussed in front of so many people that I don't trust." She glanced towards the Order. "And because of it, we will have to kill you in order to kill the Dark Lord."

"But... I have to kill him, in the end-"

"Which is why we're in a bit of a dilemma," Heather answered simply. "There is literally nothing we can do to satisfy both terms. We're at a loss. I have my best researchers on it, but there is only so much research that can be done when there is nothing to go on."

"Your best researchers?"

Heather gave a small smirk. "Oh. That's information that you are not privileged to know." Blaise snorted. "But, breakfast is over. Training, however, is intended. I think we'll spend all afternoon with pain tolerance. There are so many of you, after all." She rose, waiting for the others to rise as well, before Heather gently ran her fingers between Blaise's shoulders. "I'll see you later."

"Tell me again, why I should attend trainings?"

Heather loved it when he did this. Acted like a petulant child but secretly had no complaints. He lightened the mood. It was why he insisted on staying around. Otherwise it was sullen, strict, quiet. She caressed his jaw as he swallowed, and smiled sweetly. "Because you won't like the consequences if you don't. And your misapparation? Embarrassing, sweetheart."

She tapped his cheek gently before she turned swiftly and straightened her posture. "You should already be in the basement," she snapped.

"You and Zabini? One Death Eater family after another-"

"Business associate," she informed them. "He provides me with information I require." Her heels clicked on the floor, leading them downstairs. "You must learn to take some initiative. You cannot just stand there, open mouthed as I discuss things with others. You need to be training as often as possible."

"This training method sucks, alright?" Ron stated. "It's bloody mental-"

"It will save your life if you even try. But lately, you haven't been. In fact, I'd venture to say you never have, so... yes, Ronald, it does suck, because you aren't trying." She stopped at the foot of the stairs before staring into the training room. She didn't know what to assign them first. "I will be keeping tally of who loses what, and when the afternoon comes, you will be subjected to that many pain tolerances. We'll start out harsh and go easy. Then I think you'll understand I'm not messing around."

"I think we got that yesterday."

"Then you'd be aware of yourselves and apply yourselves more. Pity the message didn't seem to sink in, yet. It will once today is over." She hoped, at least.

\- Later that morning -

She saw the spell coming for her. A hex - Bat Boogey if she was correct. The Weasley girl was pretty skilled in darker magic. Perhaps Heather would have to see how skilled. And she was prepared to shield at the last moment. A training exorcise in awareness, but what she wasn't prepared for was the body to suddenly come out of nowhere, knocking into her and sending her stumbling.

She nearly fell to the floor by the force and when she rightened, she turned furiously to find Potter suffering from the hex himself. He had... he had stepped in the way of the curse. Her anger vanished and she felt as white as a sheet, as sick as if she was about to collapse on her feet.

He had stepped in the way of the curse for her.

"I'm going to..." Heather cleared her throat, nodding to herself as she moved towards the stairs. "I'm going to get a breath of air. It's stuffier than usual down here." She couldn't seem to escape fast enough as she shut the basement door quickly.

She bipassed the kitchen and requested a nutrients potion before she moved to the balcony, gripping the railing as she stared down at the sea below. Images of green light flashed in the waves, and she squeezed her hands tightly, to make the Avada curse leave her mind. A Bat Boogey was nothing to an Avada. But still... Why had Potter taken it? Why hadn't he just let her deal with it herself? She was ready for it.

But still he had taken it. Was he mental?

She didn't know whether to be angry or surprised. But she knew one thing - another fourteen reasons were added to the list of why she hated Potter. And most of them involved why he was like Orion.

Shuffling of steps sounded suddenly, rushing towards the balcony, but were stopped as more footsteps appeared.

Couldn't she get a moment of peace? She moved towards the door.

"You're close?" Heather paused, her fingers gripping the frame of the veranda door as she heard Remus approach someone. What was he doing out of the training room? On the other hand, she was supposed to be busy training as well.

"I don't give away her secrets." Blaise. Heather swallowed. But Blaise would in this moment, if asked. He trusted Remus, he always urged her to bridge the gap that had been caused in their relationship over Heather's refusal to go to Hogwarts. Over Heather's refusal to get close.

"I'm worried... She's... she's going to hurt herself."

There was silence and Heather almost thought they had discovered her, but she knew that her location was a complete secret. Blaise hadn't known, and Remus certainly didn't. "She already has." Heather closed her eyes. Please, Blaise, don't do it. But her prayers were falling upon deaf ears. He wouldn't keep it from Remus.

"Those scars, right?" Remus pressed, but it was cautious, as if he knew how shaky the ground he was trying to stand was. "How... how did she get them?"

"I don't think you want to know." No, Remus absolutely didn't.

"She was eleven when she told me she wanted to move out and live in France," Remus said quietly. "She's been so independent, never asking for much. Just books to learn from and training skills. I couldn't deny her that. She deserved to know how to fight. There was bound to be something pop up. There always is. . . And her stays at my house would always be shorter every summer until last summer, she didn't show at all. A few weeks, at least, I thought she would dedicate. Maybe even a weekend. . ." Heather hadn't had a chance to return home. She couldn't have. She had changed that spring. Everything had changed that spring. "She had just graduated, so... I expected some sort of... I thought she was mad at me for not being able to go to her graduation-"

"She didn't go to graduation herself," Blaise cut in. "She barely graduated."

It seemed to be news to Remus. "What do you mean? She got top marks."

"Yes, but her attendance issues were... they were unprecedented. Madame Maxine had to beg the board to let her graduate, in light of what she was missing school for. She was too injured to go to graduation anyway, so... it didn't really matter."

"Injured?" Remus asked, his voice hoarse. "Why didn't anyone tell me? The school-"

"She didn't get hurt at school," Blaise stated sharply. "She never does. She's careful in her trainings. Her only injuries were those she inflicted upon herself for pain tolerance, and even then it was always in the infirmary, where a Healer could get to her when Heather allowed the pain to take hold." He sighed, it seemed and Heather knew what was coming. "She was eleven when she met Corsica. They were sorted into Papillion together. All of the Dragons were. Orion was a year above her, Papillion as well. Ignatius, that winter, began to teach her things, when she stayed with them. He heard of her dreams, and he wanted to help... So he taught her everything she knows now. Every duel move, every spell, every curse, everything. She learned it in a few years only, and then taught it in return to those that she had gathered to join her cause. Beauxbatons had never seen such a rise in exam scores."

"This has nothing to do with-"

"Orion and her were inseparable. And Corsica and Heather were unbeatable. No one in the entire school dared counter any of the three of them. I got to know Orion through my gran, who used to babysit him - her and his mother were friends, before she passed a few years ago... Heather was a mess, after Mrs. Malfoy died. Mrs. Malfoy taught her what it meant to be a woman. I think... I think Heather thought of her as her own mum, you know, since she never had one..." Blaise paused. "Heather and Orion started dating when she was fourteen, he fifteen. It was about time... He spent nearly six months trying to work up the nerve to actually ask her out. He was afraid she'd hex him into Tuesday ... it wouldn't have been the first time." She nearly snorted at the memories. "And... Merlin, they were perfect together. I couldn't imagine a couple getting along better than they did. They trained together, they planned together, they breathed together. It was unhealthy how close they were. Every move was in sync. They knew each other so well. It's why she's so into her trainings. She always has been, and Orion... Orion helped her make a schedule. She can go up to nine days with no sleep because of their schedule. And ..."

"He died."

"Three Dragons had died in a raid," Blaise stated firmly. "They were ambushed and it was before Heather could give the order to retreat. And, just as they began to retreat, Orion... There was a spell... it was heading for Heather and... there was no way she could have gotten out of the way in time. No training could have... He was right next to her and ... he took the curse for himself. And from the memory that Aurore showed me... it wasn't a quick end. We tell Iggy it was, to make him feel better, but... no one should die like that..." Heather squeezed her eyes shut, the images flooding back just as hard as she tried to block them. "Heather blamed herself for his death. Naturally, she always does... Three months later, she had a chance to get back at the Death Eaters. To... weaken them, from the inside. So, her and Corsica set out alone without informing the others. It was supposed to be quick - in and out. Only... They were caught."

"When was this?"

"He died in February... This was near the middle of May, I believe." Blaise continued, as if Remus hadn't interrupted, "They killed Corisca in front of her, Amycus and Alecto Carrow. And then they... they did unmentionable things to her. Tore her skin to shreds and broke her. She was foolish. Heather only went to avenge Orion. That's the only reason Corsica went with her. They were both ... foolish. Stupid. They knew the risks. And ... Heather begged them to kill her. Begged them to end it. Her suffering. Her guilt. Her life. They wouldn't. Not painlessly, of course. They gutted her." She knew Remus winced, because he shuffled a few steps until he began to sink to the ground. Heather could do nothing but stare at them from her hiding place, emotionlessly as Blaise finished the tale. "And then they left her, scattered around a dim shack. Right before Corsica died, though, she... she called me through the necklace. Orion and I had rings that were connected to them, and in emergencies, we could be transported, like a portkey. But by the time I got there, Heather was barely alive... She kept telling me to kill her, to... to stop the pain-"

"She talks about it like it was nothing-"

"I took her here. Brought her Iggy and told him what I found. I couldn't get Corsica's body. Heather wouldn't have lived long enough and by the time I apparated back... her body was gone." Heather swallowed. "It was touch and go for days. She missed graduation, she missed all of the raids she planned... And it was the price she paid for being reckless. Everyone she loved died in just a matter of months. And when she woke... it was ... she cried for days and then one day... she was what she is now. Stoic. No emotions, no sympathies. She's seen loss and she doesn't want to get too attached again. She acts like its nothing, but she dreams about it, nightmares... She tries to hide them from me, but they're obvious when you're sleeping right next to her." Damn it. He never said anything. Never hinted he knew about them. She supposed it was a reason she appreciated his company. He didn't pry when he knew it would make her angry. "Don't... don't pry... She'll talk to you when she's ready."

Remus made a choking sound, which made her stomach hurt. "She's never... She never even hinted... I didn't even know she was dating-"

"She viewed it as a vulnerability."

It was. Because, when it had ended, she had acted so brashly, she was even more vulnerable. "But... I'm her uncle... I raised her for her entire life... does she... has she mentioned-"

"She finds it difficult to be around you, when your distaste for her activities was so evident." Heather paused from stepping back. His distaste? "She also has mentioned, occasionally, that you like to reminisce. She's not fond of dwelling."

Dwelling. Yet that was exactly what she was doing, wasn't it a bit ironic?

"Has she... has she ever gotten any closure?"

"No... She says she's fine, but... we all know she's not. The girls are worried, Iggy's worried, but she ignores it. She's going to get herself killed one of these days, with how hard she pushes herself. She needs it, I think. If she were to stop... I think she's afraid she might stop all together. She's given up everything for this war... and I'm positive she's ready to sacrifice herself if it was necessary."

He was right. She was ready any time to do exactly as he said. There was nothing she was more prepared for. But they needed to get back to training, and she did as well. It was nearing lunch.

She composed herself, straightening her shoulders and taking a deep breath, before she stepped out into their view, her steps not faltering as Remus seemed surprised to see her. Blaise on the other hand... not so much. The bastard had known she was there. "If the idle chit-chat is done for the morning, let us return to the training room. I'm looking forward to giving Potter yet another bloody nose."

"Heather-"

"Mr. Lupin, if you'll please refrain from speaking. You're spoiling my good mood with your voice," Heather interrupted quickly, knowing he was going to say something... something she didn't want to talk about. She glanced over her shoulder, her eyes narrowing at Blaise to show how truly angry she was with him. "I expect to see you, Blaise, in my study this evening after dinner."

"As always."

She left quickly, so quickly that she wasn't sure Blaise was following.

When she arrived in the training facility, she was pleased to see that there was a list of all the losing duels, and who had lost. She was looking forward to this the most.

After lunch, she had them gather in a different room. One that was empty, and sectioned off. One section contained a ward so that no one behind it could be allowed inside the larger section, which was where pain tolerance took place. She supposed empty wasn't an accurate description as there was a single chair in the middle of the room and the other chairs on the other side.

"Who's first?" Heather asked pleasantly, running her hand across the back of the chair in the center of the large section.

"First for what?" Harry asked.

"Thank you for volunteering," Heather smirked. She grabbed his wrist and shoved him down onto the chair. "The rest of you, sit down."

"What are you going to do to him?"

"He won't be harmed, much," Heather promised. "Sit." Remus looked extremely worried and Heather... she didn't seem worried, just bothered when they didn't obey right away. "Sit!" she snapped. The Order shuffled for seats and Harry fidgeted nervously.

"What exactly am I doing?"

"Your very best not to cry out," Heather stated simply. She glanced towards Harry only for a second before looking to the rest of the Order. "Aurore has tallied up how many times you were defeated today in dueling or other competitions. And it is that number that will determine the severity of your pain tolerance." She waited for the news to sink in. "The higher the number, the more pain you will feel. Aurore, how high was Harry's number?"

"Fourteen."

She considered it. "How would you like to begin, Mr. Potter? Crucio? Some blood letting? Boggart? Or bone breaking?"

"Neither would be nice."

She snorted. "Wonderful. You think you're funny." She glanced towards the twins. "I'd expect it from them, but you... well, it's ill suited." She withdrew her wand from its holster. "Since you didn't choose, I will choose for you. Crucio."

Harry screamed louder than she had ever heard a man scream while subjected to the spell. Weak. And she'd no doubt hear louder among the other Order members that would be subjected to it. How pathetic. "The point," Heather stated loudly over his cries. "Is that you will be able to be immune to most torture the Death Eaters dish out. Tom doesn't dare torture me any longer. He knows that it is pointless. And my girls are protected because they know he will not torture them, either."

She released the spell and gave Harry a few minutes to breathe. "The last time I was tortured, my pain tolerance allowed me to live. I was able to stay conscious as my body was literally torn to pieces." Heather glanced towards all of the Order members. "So I remember every last thing they did to me. And I will make sure to do exactly that to them." She glanced towards Harry. "Let's start off easier, shall we? Since you are weak. Belle?"

Once Harry realized what the creature was, he sucked in a breath and Heather watched the swirling black form take the shape of yet another swirling black form. A Dementor. Hmmm... She stared at it a moment, before glancing to Harry as it advanced. "Surely you aren't going to stare at it, Potter?"

He began to dig into his pockets, trying to find his wand. Heather nearly giggled when he couldn't find it and scrambled off the chair, away from the dementor. "I don't have my wand."

"You're right, you don't," Heather agreed, showing it in her own hand. "You must be prepared, Potter. Good luck."

"It'll kill me!" Harry cried, and the dementor was, indeed, advancing on him.

"Then change it," Heather stated simply. "No one's going to save you, Potter! Change it or it will suck your soul out." Harry was panicking. She could see his breathing become labored as he scrambled back into the corner of the room. Heather stared at him, waiting for something. Something that could redeem him. "Change it!" Heather shouted, her eyes intent on him. Waiting. Waiting. Nothing was happening. Surely he wasn't helpless.

"I can't!" Harry shouted at her. "Bloody hell! I knew you were mental-"

Heather growled in frustration. A flick of her wand sent the dementer to the other corner of the room, closer to her.

"Useless," Heather hissed to Potter. "I can't believe you can't even change the boggart's form."

"You change it, then!" Harry snapped. "If you're so great at this!" He gathered himself off the floor, dusting off his shirt. Heather took the challenge. She approached the boggart, watching it shift and stretch and shrink before it turned into a blood soaked woman, blonde and small, with eyes so white it stood out against the dark crimson of her body. Corsica.

Her hand was clutching her stomach tightly, and Heather didn't dare look, knowing what she'd see. Wounds just like her own had been. Gutted. As Corsica took a step, Heather took one back, the boggart shifting into another woman, identical to Heather, bloodied and nearly collapsing as she took a step forward. Heather took another step back. The version of her that had been strewn about the shack of Alecto and Amycus Carrow morphed into a blonde man, resembling Corsica greatly. Only he wasn't covered in blood. He looked relatively normal, a few scrapes and bruises showing on his exposed skin. And a singe mark on the center of his chest where the spell had hit him. Heather hardened her jaw and as the boggart stepped to her, she moved back once more.

And then it was Remus, his eyes an amber of his werewolf. And his body was contorting and changing as if he was under the moon. Another step and it was much, much different. A dragon. It welled up a breath, its breast expanding and Heather sucked in a breath, turning her body facing away from the beast, her arms extended to where Harry was, now in front of her instead of behind her, as if protecting him. It had been what she was doing, but there was no need. As she felt the heat coming towards them, the creature changed.

A dementor. She turned out of the way, letting it move towards Harry and she walked, her heels clicking on the marble, towards the opposite side of the room. "Change it, Potter."

"I don't know how!" Harry insisted, his eyes wide and he moved away from the dementor, but it only followed.

"Then think of how," Heather said calmly. "It's really not that difficult to influence the boggart. Each boggart you saw it change into were once one of my greatest fears, at any given point of time in my life. Now, they mean nothing. Think, Potter." But Harry was running, he wasn't working on calming himself, controlling anything about him. He was trying to flee. She rolled her eyes in frustration, casting the boggart back into the chest in Belle's hands.

Harry was breathing heavily, and Heather found herself glaring at him. "Sit in the chair."

"No!" Harry cried. "Bloody hell, you're insane!"

"Sit. Down." He glared at her, but sat. Heather stared at him a moment. "Crucio." He began to writhe, and fell from the chair almost right away, a choked cry leaving him. "Pathetic," she snapped. Releasing the spell, she grabbed his collar and shoved him towards the Order behind the barrier. As soon as he crossed, the barrier fell. The Order looked horrified, and Heather looked at them all. "Next, please?"

Molly looked like she was about to have heart palpitations. Remus looked a little grey. And Hermione Granger looked positively speechless. Good, someone needed to shut the girl up sometime. "No one? Fine. Aurore, who among them has the lowest number on the list?"

"Alastor Moody, Miss."

Heather's eyes darted to the seasoned Auror. "Wonderful. Alastor, who is it among your friends that will be subjected to pain tolerance next? And you cannot choose yourself." He didn't answer. Heather waited patiently. "No one, either? Very well. Molly Weasley. Sit in the chair."

To be entirely honest, Heather wasn't sure the woman would be able to take much more stress. But the woman rose, a bit shaky on her feet, and moved towards the chair. As soon as her and Heather crossed, the barrier was up once more.

"I might be sick," Molly admitted.

"Good, then you're learning." Heather stared at Molly a moment before determining that it was okay to proceed. "Which would you like?"

"Which hurts the least?"

Was she serious? "The bone breaking," Heather lied. It was probably the second worst.

"I'd like to do that, first. Ease into it, then."

"Very well. Aurore, what was her number?"

"Seventeen." An awful number.

"If you cry out, I will break another. And I will keep breaking until you no longer cry out," Heather warned her, and Molly seemed to turn a shade paler.

And Heather gently lifted the elderly woman's arm, and Molly took a deep breath. She took Molly's pinky finger and the woman looked ready to cry. "One... Two-" Heather jerked her hand, and the finger make a snapping noise. Molly let out a cry and Heather wrinkled her nose in distaste, grabbing another finger. She didn't give a warning this time, and jerked Molly's ring finger, and Molly tried to hold back the pain, but she choked out another cry. So the fingers continued, and then Heather gripped the woman's wrist.

This one always hurt the most. There were so many tendons and ligaments. Heather jerked the wrist at an odd angle, and Molly absolutely howled. It made Heather's eyes nearly glow as she stared at Molly, waiting for her to stop crying. She gripped Molly's arm on two sides and lifted it slightly before bringing it down harshly along the metal chair. Molly sobbed, but didn't cry out.

They had reached her pain threshold. Reached the point where Molly could go no further.

"Do you hear that?" Heather asked the woman, releasing her arm. Molly clutched it to her chest, no doubt causing more pain, but whatever comforted the woman. "This is the moment you will give the Death Eaters whatever they want," Heather snapped. "This is the point where you stop fighting back. I hadn't even broken eight pieces of your body." Heather looked over the woman before turning away from her and moving a few steps back. "It's disgraceful how little you've been disciplined. That point is the point where you feel no more pain on top of the pain you already feel. Do you not feel ashamed?"

Molly just let out a whimper.

"Heal her. Aurore, pick whoever you want next."

"Hermione Granger."

An elf mended Molly's arm and fingers, before she was sent to the barrier. Hermione strode through cautiously. "Are you going to ask me which one hurts the least, too?" Heather snapped. "Because I hope you've learned by now that you won't like my answer." Heather's head snapped towards the traumatized mother. "You're also gullible. You shouldn't believe anything anyone tells you."

"I want to start with the boggart," Hermione said carefully. "I haven't seen it since third year and ... I want to learn how to change it like you did."

Heather stared at the girl, trying to see if she'd falter. "Very well. Aurore, her number?"

"Six, miss."

Six. It was very good. One of the highest ranks, she was sure. The girl seemed smart, but too textbook. She didn't look athletic, but looked like she could hold her own if she were desperate. Heather nodded. "Very well. Boggart it is."

It was released and it swirled around in front of Hermione, between her and the crowd of Order members. It couldn't seem to decide what it wanted to shape as until it did. And the image made Heather smirk. It was her, with a blank, dark look on her face. And it made Heather feel the happiest she had been in months. Someone feared her. Someone she had only known for a few days was terrified of her.

She was sure Christmas had come early.

"Good," Heather stated. "Now change it."

Hermione looked like she was trying, thinking of something very hard, but the boggart didn't falter. Heather saw the boggart of her draw a knife from the sheath on her leg and it glinted in the firelight as the boggart took a step towards Hermione.

"Change it, Granger, or I'll let her kill you."

Granger looked like she was concentrating so much, she was going to make herself sick, and then there was a bit of a fizzle in her incredibly wild hair before the boggart changed in an instant to a man. Heather didn't recognize him, so it must have been someone close to her. He and her looked alike in some ways, but he wore a bit of a sadistic grin on his face and he stared down at Hermione before picking up the knife that boggart Heather had dropped in the change. And he proceeded to step towards Hermione.

"Change it," Heather ordered.

Hermione was breathing heavily, scrambling out of the chair. Her eyes didn't move from the boggart's though and Heather watched them both carefully. Something about this man terrified her in a way that Heather didn't. Something about him made Hermione panic more than Heather killing her. Heather needed to find an identification of the man. Any information she could get to leverage Hermione to crack would work in her favor.

"Who is he?" Heather asked curiously.

"My brother."

Oh... Hmmm... Heather couldn't help the smile that grew on her face. "He looks like he loves you very much." Hermione's face set into a glare as she stared at the man. Well, at least Heather reminded her of the point. "Change it," Heather snapped.

Hermione couldn't. Heather growled in frustration, sending it back into the box. "Sit in the chair. What next, hmm? Any other requests?"

"I almost had it," Hermione snapped.

"It shouldn't take you longer than a second to change it," Heather returned. "Sit down and stop acting like a whiny brat. Time's up for the boggart. What's next?" Heather pressed.

It continued, and she made the Order cry, including the infamous Alastor Moody, before she decided that they had completed pain tolerance. Some of them were shaking from the after effects of the Cruciatus. Some were still clutching healed wounds like they still hurt. Others, including Mad-Eye, were a bit skittish after their skirmish with the boggarts.

Heather moved to leave, but Aurore cleared her throat - not loudly enough to draw the Order's attention, but enough to catch Heather's. "Miss, you forfeited one duel today." Heather blinked and then sighed quietly. When stupid golden Potter had taken that spell for her and she had left. "Would you like to wait until after they are gone or show them what you are building them towards?"

Showing them would scare them, and they could use a little fear. But it would also be violent. Heather hadn't lost a duel in a while. Which was why her mandatory pain tolerances made up for it.

"Will you do the honors?" Heather questioned.

Aurore hesitated slightly before giving a slight nod. "Of course, Miss."

Heather sat in the middle of the chair, and through the barrier she could see the rising Order pausing slightly, confused. "Did I dismiss you?" Heather questioned. "We are not done here. There is one more."

Order members looked among themselves, but couldn't seem to spot who it was. Were they really that dense? Remus understood first, his wide eyes turning to face Heather. Heather gave a smirk. Blaise, seated casually while smirking, clutched at his still sore dislocated shoulder. Heather met his gaze for just a second before Aurore stepped forward, the roll of parchment forgotten.

"What would you like first, Miss?"

"Give me your worst," Heather stated simply, taking a deep breath and popping her shoulders as Aurore gave a tight nod.

A solid punch hit her in the jaw, sending her body twisting from the force, and she quickly got out of the chair to go with the energy, before she turned to face Aurore, shifting her body to keep it lose. Tensing only made her get damage that took a while to heal.

Aurore sent another punch, but grabbed Heather's hair, tossing her down onto the ground, and a sharp kick, heel and all, was sent into Heather's side. Damn that felt like a rib. Yes, it was definitely a rib. "One rib broken," Heather counted, rolling onto her hands and knees. She pushed herself up and the cruciatus curse hit her next, making her stumble slightly, her eyes squeezing shut as she counted out the seconds she was under it. "Forty six seconds under Cruciatus," Heather panted, and then Aurore slammed her into the stone wall, making Heather's head spin.

Aurore was good at this. She knew how to knock an opponent out quickly, but she also knew how to disorient them without knocking them out. And the second route was what she was taking.

"Broken collar bone," Heather grunted. "Broken nose." Aurore's grip on Heather's arm tightened and she was twisted around until her arm was behind her back. The dislocation and breaking was a sharp pain that made Heather hiss slightly. "Broken forearm, dislocated shoulder-" And then it was the boggart. As Aurore's grip on Heather's hair returned and she was thrown onto her back, sliding back a few feet across the marble, the boggart showed up above Heather, hovering in the shape of a dementor.

Heather changed it quickly, surging to her feet and circling it slightly as it turned into the massive dragon. Heather felt the blood flowing from her broken nose and took a few steps back to put distance between her and the dragon. It roared. The room shook. Heather stared at it a moment, welling up as much fear as she could inside of her and directing it towards something else. Anything else.

It was a mountain troll. Taking a lumbering step towards her, the room shook again and Aurore was once more there, a sharp kick to Heather's leg making it so she dislocated her knee. Merlin's beard, it hurt.

"Dislocated knee." Another kick broke Heather's shin on the other leg. And Merlin, she cried out. But almost as soon as she did, the troll let out a loud grunt and Heather gritted her teeth, staring at it with almost glowing eyes. "Broken leg," she stated sharply. The troll made a swing for Heather and she rolled out of the way, biting her lip to keep from grunting in pain. She had felt worse. She had experienced worse.

She needed more.

The troll dissolved into a ball of fire, and Heather felt the searing heat along her arm for the split second that the fire had burst forth towards her. And then the boggart was gone from the ball of flames to the form of Orion, breathing heavily, staring at her with hate. And his hand held the knife that she had seen Hermione's boggart have. He came at her with it and Heather rolled out of the way, listening to the knife bounce off of the marble. She really, really hoped it didn't chip.

Heather could still feel the stinging pain of the burn. She hadn't called it. "Burn on my arm. Third degree."

Orion came at her again and nicked her on the arm, and Heather stared at him, a smirk on her lips. "Oh, honey, it's just getting started." She swung her legs, knocking the boggart down and it transformed as soon as it hit ground, showing her Corsica, bloodied and gutted instead with a dead look in her eyes. A dead Corsica. The same Corsica that had been in the same position to Heather in that room where Heather had nearly died.

Heather grunted as she rose to her feet, leaning heavily on the dislocated knee, despite the pain. And then Aurore was there, landing a solid kick to Heather's stomach, so Heather was sprawling. "Yeah, that hurt," Heather muttered. She groaned as she hauled herself to her side and the boggart changed to a woman with sandy blonde hair and a series of scars on her skin. Her mother.

Heather stared at Aurore and she knew the boggart had changed to her father. And then it kept changing, kept moving to every single dragon she had lost, every last girl and Aurore landed a strong kick to Heather's side, and she knew it was the end. Only because Aurore gave a small smile to Heather.

"I think that's good for now, non?"

Heather grunted. "Oui." She pulled herself up and spotted the boggart frozen on her last one to die - Jeananne Marie. With a wave of Heather's hand, she cast it to Belle's box and rolled her good shoulder, inspecting her wounds. "Good job," Heather grinned towards Aurore. "You actually got me nicked by Orion."

"You did the fire," Aurore returned. "Nice touch."

Heather gave a small shrug. "It wasn't hurting enough." She inspected the burn. Nothing that would scar, at least, but it would take a bit for the elves to heal. An elf was on her, forcing her to sit in the chair and began to heal her broken leg, before he moved onto her dislocated knee, using magic to jerk it into place. Heather flinched slightly, but watched the elf diligently.

Healing the bruises on Heather's stomach, her broken rib, were next. And then it was the burn on the arm, followed by relocating her shoulder.

"Is dinner ready?" Heather questioned the elf.

"Yes, Mistress. Dinner is ready to be served."

"Wonderful," Heather commented. She rose to her feet, feeling her face begin to heal, and smirked towards the Order. "Dinner? I'm starving." Aurore gave a soft giggle in amusement as the Order seemed particularly alarmed. Heather moved towards the door, doing her best not to show the pain of her sore knee to them. "I'm not waiting all night. Let's go!" Heather snapped.

If there was one thing they wouldn't know, it was how much it really hurt. Then she would look weaker than they needed her to be. And then she would lose their motivation. And if there was one thing she needed most from them, it was motivation.


End file.
